THE LAST POST OF HE, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton.
Sunday morning of the 2001 Nebula Weekend.
I'm going away from the board. This will be, it is my intention (but one should never state absolutes in a random universe, because one cannot--nor should not--try to set the future in stone), my final posting. Part of it, the going-away, I can explain; part I choose not to explicate, save to assure you there is nothing troublesome, disheartening, dangerous, onerous or otherwise negative about it. Nobody here, and nothing said previously or currently, has ticked me off or saddened me or in any way produced this decision. This has been an absolutely dear experience for me...and I hope, for the most part, for you. But a request has been tendered that I choose to honor. I know, I know, I'm being purposely obfuscatory and possibly (though I hope not) unfair. For those of you seeking sources, exclude Susan; she had nothing to do with it. I know this will start some sort of search-&-destroy activity on the part of those of you who think this is infamous, and you'll go looking for an Evil Eminence who brought this about. There ain't one. Fu Manchu and Dr. Doom had no manipulation here.
Let me assure you...and since I try never to lie to you guys, I hope you'll take me at my word...there's nothing either dark or malevolent about my leavetaking. But there IS a consideration here that I never considered and, despite Barney's supposition that this may, indeed, be a cusp, affording me instant access to a dear and intelligent coterie of smart cookies who seem to have genuine affection for me, this other consideration overrides.
So I'll just respond to the last few postings, and then take my leave. With considerable affection and gratitude to all of you who've permitted me to come sit around the campfire for a month or two. It has been, in the word of Edd "Kookie" Burns from 77 Sunset Strip, "ginchy."
Rob: I'll give you a phone call and we'll discuss Bunuel and other things, as soon as I get out from under the workload, primarily the treatment for the film of DEMON WITH A GLASS HAND. The impending WGAw strike also limits my free time for social congress. Bear with me.
Justin: hullee geez, kid, I was NOT suggesting that you were a Jew passing as a Gentile. Ohmigawd no! I was being jocular, elfish, parodisic. I posited you were Jewish because of the correct, in context, uses of "shtumie" and "tchotchkes," both of which are slightly more, only slightly, more arcane than the commonly-used "schmuck" or "schmootz," which snippets of Yinglish have passed into Gentile useage as smooothly as those substitute pieces of goyishe crap they misnomer as bagels.
Your abyss leap that I was suggesting you were "passing" horrified me. Y'all are correct: the possibilities for misstating or misreading on these boards is cataclysmic.
Justin, please forgive. Oh boy.
The posting by Matthew Davis of the UK, in re Marcel Proust, is as informed, lucid and inviting a precis of the man, and what is compelling in his oeuvre, as anything I've ever read on the subject. And I can't recall who was querying as to the value of reading Proust--it may have been Rob--but your answer lies fully exposed in Matthew's exegesis.
I wish I could say something pithy and classy about Hesse, but beyond MAGISTER LUDI, STEPPENWOLF, and two books of his essays, I'm afraid I'm a novice when it comes to Hesse. That is to say, I'm conversant--the way someone on Jeopardy might be superficially able to discuss Hesse at a cocktail party with goons pretending to greater sophistication than they actually possess--but not smart enough or steeped enough to proffer anything either pithy or useful among a cadre of genuinely sharp cookies like y'all. So I'll take a pass on this one.
Do I REMEMBER the short-lived PHANTOM 2040 animated series???!!!??? Sunny Jim, I did a VOICEOVER on one of the segments!!!!!
As for THE PHANTOM movie, it is terrific. So, poetically put:
SCREW
YOU
XANA
DU
Both Susan and I adore it, we have it on VHS, and we watch it whenever it shows up on the tube. Apart from Catherine Zeta-Jones being more breathtakingly exquisite in the movie than she is now, it was utterly faithful to the strip, Billy Zane could not have been more perfectly cast as The Ghost Who Walks, and if it had the usual plot-glitches that emanate from tranliteration of a surreal comic universe to a mimetic configuration, well, one shrugs and pays that price of suspension of disbelief. Hell, I like the film so much, I've actually got--here in Ellison Wonderland--the emerald skull used in the finale.
The Shadow movie is more problematic. I wrote a review that trashed it, when it came out; but a year or so later, on a Virgin Airlines flight back from the UK, unable to sleep on that long flight, running through every available film on a Kotex-Box-sized tv screen, a slave unit attached to my seat, while Susan snored aside me, I watched the film again...because there wasn't anything else I hadn't seen...and I'll be damned if it didn't work like gangbusters on that itty-bitty liquid crystal screen! I don't mean it was passable, or that I didn't have to flee to the smallest chamber on the plane and deposit stew in the stainless steel...what I'm saying is that it was sensational. Held my interest, presented its gaffes and plot flaws boldly, provided me with more memorable moments than that nifty one of The Shadow reifying atop the staircase in the Hotel Monolith, gave me Peter Boyle as the perfect Moe Shrevnitz, that young lady with the three names which is something like Pamela Sue Somethingorother (actually, Susan tells me her name is Penelope Ann Miller, which may be correct) as a really interesting Margo Lane, and Alec Baldwin as Lamont Cranston, and I'll tell you this, gang, if I were doing the casting, I'd have to search deep and far and wide and endlessly to find ANYONE better for that role. I think he was superlative.
All of this, in direct contravention of what I said in print. And it was at that stage of my reviewing for F&SF that I opted out of doing "Harlan Ellison's Watching," or I promise you that the very next column would have been in praise of that movie.
Yes, it is seriously flawed in terms of its internal logic and internal plot consistency, but the great John Lone as Shiwan Khan, and all that elegant stagecraft, beautiful SFX (don't tell me that the clearing of the mind-beclouding mists, to reveal both the Tulku's temple at the beginning of the film, and the supposedly-razed Hotel Monolith near the denouement of the film, isn't magical, impressive and something you never saw before), fidelity to the original canon, and essential goodheartedness of the movie commends it to the attention of anyone who retains the heart of a child who reveled and adored and lived for The Shadow when s/he was a kid. I enter these encomia late in the game, too late to do the movie any good commercially, but if it gets even one of you either to view it for the first time, or revisit it with fresh eyes, well, I'll feel my guilt at judging too quickly, too harshly, has been mitigated slightly.
Sheryl. Honest, hon, no chastening should have been done by me. I was excessive. My passions ofttimes bludgeon my sense of civility. You are ABSOLUTELY entitled to find Hemingway a pain in the tush. Hell, I can't read Hawthorne without screaming GET ON WITH IT YOU OBVIOUS LONG-WINDED PECKSNIFF! If it is that Hemingway rankles you because he has been thrust down your throat in the Academy, I suggest it could be worse. Fanny Hurst is still being read, you know. The pathetic attempts of English Depts. to wrench themselves out of the Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Bronte Sisters period, to "get modern," is so spavined and incoherent, that they continue to think Hemingway is ultramodern and daring. For them, there is no value in genre writing, the mystery begins and ends with Hammett and Chandler, they've chosen to forget James M. Cain and Jim Thompson, and they never have discoved Westlake. So, the poor purblind creatures try to be "daring" by using the only "acceptable" of the "modern" writers, and you get Hemingway as boringly, as clumsily, as annoyingly as I got George Eliot. (Thank heavens I discovered Hardy on my own, and fell in love with him, because if I'd been clubbed over the head by RETURN OF THE NATIVE in high school, as I was, without having had my life changed by the epiphany of his THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE--one of the most meaningful books in my life, that gave me an insight that has proven correct and useful for more than sixty years--I'd have loathed the wonderful Hardy as much as the detestable George Eliot, and yes, I know Eliot was a pseudonym for a woman, so make of that what you will.)
No need for you to immerse yourself in Hemingway just to reasure yourself that you aren't as wise as you posit me to be. I tell you right now, kiddo, you ARE wiser than I. Better read, better equipped to comment, in every demonstrable way I can conjure...wiser than I. We merely diverge on opinions, likes'n'dislikes. Friends do that, and Mensa qualifications don't count. (Trust me, Sheryl, I've lectured to Mensa: such qualifications do NOT count.) So, please, if you want to go back and savor the lovelies of THE GREEN HILLS OF AFRICA or some of the exquisitely-crafted short stories, be my guest. But above all, as I do, read Hemingway for pleasure. Sans pleasure, you might as well be trudging through Bunyan or Lew Wallace.
Oh, I guess I never mentioned this. The reason I suggested you snare Ed Bryant and drag him into your warm and loving web, is that Ed and I are long-time pals, I'm a great admirer of his writing (which is of the highest caliber), he is a cogent and relentless instructor of how to write well, and he was one of my first ultra-successful Clarion students. He visits with Susan and me at least once, often twice, a year...and I can't think of anyone whose opinions on the value and shape of writing workshops would be more salient. I hope he joins you here. If he does, tell him I love him.
And so, having responded to just about everything I can think of to date, I'll be leaving you. Never fear that I'll continue on a daily basis to come back here and lurkingly visit with you, like The Shadow, because I've come to have an enormous affection for this chat-group. I Hope you stay together, grow in number of like-minded and like-civilized friends, and batten on the astonishing social quality of the little community you, and Rick, have created.
With affection, so long. Yr. pal, Harlan.
Sorry about the double posting.
First off, I like "The Shadow." So sue me; I thought it was funny. Great movie? No. Fun movie? Yes.
"That is a wonderful tie!"
Xanadu -
Actually, my iMac is running on 320 RAM right now (my wife uses Quark XPress and Photoshop a lot for graphic design), so that thankfully is not an issue.
First off, I like "The Shadow." So sue me; I thought it was funny. Great movie? No. Fun movie? Yes.
"That is a wonderful tie!"
Xanadu -
Actually, my iMac is running on 320 RAM right now (my wife uses Quark XPress and Photoshop a lot for graphic design), so that thankfully is not an issue.
Hello board!
Bearing in mind that my knowledge of pulp is passing at best, I'd have to say my favorite film of that genre is "Big Trouble in Little China". Action, dames, magic, a hero who's larger-than-life (or at least trying to be), and yet another source of memorable catchphrases:
"What is that stuff?"
"Black blood of the Earth"
"You mean oil?"
"No! I mean black blood of the Earth!"
One person's "cheap slam" is another person's "earnest warning".
Harlan - I recently read "Paingod and Other Delusions". Thank you for writing it. The subject of finding and living your dream job was nicely touched on in "Deeper Than the Darkness".
In the immortal works of Kraftwerk: "BOING boing, boom CHOCK chock chock, BOING boing, boom CHOCK, BING!"
Mitch
*** Doug *** Yes, I can see you in a sort of Marlowe/Sam Spade career. Not only do you own the coat but the temptation [in others] to induce blunt force trauma upon you by hitting you in the head with a sap every couple of days makes you the perfect person for that job. Do you get the girl? Sure, but she's dead or a heroin addict, or sleeping with her dad so it kinda sucks for you...
Hey, I'm back. Didja missme? Back when this stuff was done on paper they called it GAFIA (getting away from it all) but with the advent of electrathingamajigification [I get 1st citation in the OED so screw you ghost of Thomas Carlyle!] - you can't take a break or people who will remain nameless will think you have died or are at the very least are planning a fitting revenge. Alas, I am neither. Today it's the in-laws 50th anniversary and then I drive across state lines to attend a 2nd birthday and christening which is a mixed bag of fun all the way around and has put me in a tralfamadorian sort of mood.
***Re: His presence*** I must say as a primary booster here at this site it actually sort of threw me. Standing here with my Harlan helium ballons and elephant pooper-scooper it's really freekin' weird when the CIRCUS Actually Comes To Town. Since I have OZ on the brain right now I keep thinking of the man behind the curtain. But then I realize that's one of the best parts of the story because that's when everybody gets to be just folks and all the bullshit terror and idolatry gets the big send off. It is appropriate and well met. I got well met from Harlan's "Greystoke" review. He can have it back now.
Like Phil Merkel and the rest I am totally jazzed that he's stopping by and I will now proceed to stop thinking about this to damned much. Ooops, one final thought. I don't know how Harlan feels about this but I see this as another one of those on the cusp moments of his life. The same way he was at one of the last conventions Hugo Gernsback attended, the same way he got in at the last moment that Pulps wrere a going concern, he has wandered into the first time and place where, if an artist chooses to, he can have instant and inexpensive access to a cross section of his core audience. This is a NEW thing. It's got me thinking about what Twain or Voltaire or Dosteyevsky would have done with this. Screw free story ideas - I think I may have just created a sub-genre. Oh well.
*** Writers workshops*** Next post.
*** On the Front with Pappa *** What Harlan said. Right down the line. Adding to that, Malzberg once told me something about Hemingway which kind of nailed the status of Hemingway for me. I mention Malzberg 'cause you should all run out and find his stuff and because Harlan respects M much more than me, as well he should. The Argument was - "It doesn't matter if you like Hemingway or hate Hemingway or if you never read Hemingway. After Hemingway you are either writing like him or NOT writing like him. It's worse than influence. It's like a geographic location that you are either walking towards or away from. There is no beating it and there is no getting away from it.". Then we talked about what a really bad idea it was to read 7 different biographies in a row where you always end up in Idaho with a shotgun in your mouth. As Victor Buono used to say, "That is the sort of thing that could crimp ones day if one does not filter it through the gauze of mirth!".
*** Speaking of stand up tragedians*** I was saddened to hear that Brother Teddy had passed on. I was glad I dodged having to give Harlan that informational bullet and will consider myself a lucky man if I never once have to make one of those goddamned calls. Onward.
I couldn't help but think what he must have been like as a young man. Hell Harlan, the first time you saw him he was probably about 50. When he was in his twenties huge fucking arcs of electricity must have shot out of the top of his head like some sort of ambulatory Tesla device. I dont know if Susan should be encouraged or terrified. He hit 94 without the advantage of the pampered existence ;-) you have enjoyed. You and Teddy are clearly of the same genotype right down to the huge shock of hair. You'll be kicking cripples and bad spellers for years. Years!! YEEEAARRRRSSS!!!
Picture the arc of spittle.
*** Colloquilisms *** Oh man. Nothing so abstract as "Woof Woof, a goldfish". I sure use kiddo a lot thanks to you. It's effective to the point of genius. Also, "Up to my Muffins", which, for those lucky people who do not have a basement full of Ellison crap, could have been a letterhead of Harlan's back in the day.
I've always been fond of "Bullocks!" which is hardly a colloquilism. Ummm - mostly it's stuff like "you're so full of shit it's a wonder your eyes are still blue!" and "Why don't you go take a long walk off of a short pier, eh?" which works much better in the great lakes regions where I am from than, say, Kansas. Gaimans newly found "worse than being fucked up the ass sideways with a canoe" is, I'm pretty sure a midwesternism which has migrated down the Mississipi but which definitly has trapper/Canuck music to it.
***Eyeing the HOOK - stage left *** The Women are using hair dryers and my daughter has turned my bathroom shower into a setpiece from Dexter's lab, which is my cue shave and put some real clothes on.
Do I get the job?
Harlan re The Phantom, I’ll have a look around and see what I can come up with.
John and company, I’ve never seen the movie version of The Phantom, but they did run The Phantom:2040 here a few years ago. Seem to remember watching a bit of it, and thinking it wasn’t to bad.
On The Shadow, can anyone remember the black and white series that used to run at the Cinema? I saw this about 1974 at kids Saturday matinee’s, when before the main feature they would run “The Shadow”. Each one didn’t run for very long, but my child memory enjoyed them.
Sheryl, tell your nephew his joke is very good. I am honoured to have the same sense as humour as a 4 year old.
Until next time
Kerry
Joseph J. Finn - Greetings. I'm Finder's co-conspirator in most things cinematic and I agree with him - FCP will astound and amaze you, once you get to know it - it's a VERY powerful tool, indeed. But, with version 2.0, the requirements get quite hefty in the RAM department. I'm running with an original iMac DV SE - 400Mhz G3 / 128 Meg RAM - and my system is buckling under the load. At minimum you should have 256 Meg - more would be nicer. If you don't have this, you need to factor in the additional cost of a memory upgrade for your DV+.
Apologies to the rest of you - this was a bit a an off-topic post.
John - The Phantom was, for me, almost completely forgettable. I remember so little of it that I have no real, lasting opinion of it. Sorry.
The Shadow, on the other hand, was a wretched abomination with just one spectacular visual moment - The Shadow with his billowing cape on the stairs... that was it. Except for that 10 second moment, it is 100+ minutes of my life wasted, AND 100+ minutes that I wasted in the lives of those I persuaded to come with me to the showing. It stands as a spectacular karmic stain on my soul, and I deeply resent the talent that was wasted on it.
But, in writing about it, I find I have wasted even more of my life on the wretched mess and I vow never again to sully my fingers with it. So I leave the assembled with a question/topic. What is your favorite "pulp genre" film? I offer "Buckaroo Banzai" as a possible candidate. It is more than a rip of the whole Doc Savage mythos, but the film has such a sense of fun. And it is a source for another favorite quote of mine - "It's not my planet, monkey boy!" What are your thoughts?
Harlan: Ow!. I am chastened and recondite. Stepping on toes was not my intention. Apologies to all around to any were offended are in order, and I proffer them sincerely.
Because it is you who has said I should, I will go and read "Big Two-Hearted River" again. I know exactly where it is, in my Teacher's Edition of the sophomore lit text on the shelf in the closet. I will look in the 3 dozen literature anthologies I have acquired and find more Ernie H., and I will read it, because you tell me it is valuable. Because you say it made you the Harlan Ellison that you are, I will read it, and I will try very, very hard to do it with an open mind. Because I think in some significant ways, you have shaped who I am (emphasis on the I) and your informed opinion carries weight.
And if I find that I can't read it with an open mind, I will read it anyway, like a good girl taking her medicine. Because medicine is good for you, even if you don't like the taste of it. Perhaps Hemingway is like insulin, and a certain amount if it is required, even if you have to take it artificially.
That all sounds flip, and I don't want it to, but I don't quite know how else to say it. I've got a long, long, history of trying to appreciate that particular body of work, and I just-don't. The macho thing, well, that's obviously there, but since I firmly believe that men should be men and not pseudo-women, I don't think that's it. Maybe it's having had him shoved down my throat by every teacher, professor, critic and department chair since I was 9 as the be-all-end-all of American literature that's done it. I'm never really one to just accept the givens. Maybe it's that I read very, very fast, and his sentence structure read as choppy to me that it irritates me beyond reason. I really don't know. But I will go try again. Because I one thing I DO know of a surety is that you are wiser than I am, and I try to listen to those who are wiser. I don't always succeed, but I try. So I will get out the books.
If you are right, (and you may very well be, it's possible I've learned something since I last visited those stories and I will like them better now) I will say so and give you all the credit for fixing the hole in my perception. I will go buy a dozen of his books and read them all in a week, every week for a month.
But if after I read everything I already own, my stomach is roiling like it was the last time, can I leave him to you?
Sam: I like to listen to the harpsichord; but…naw, I thought it over and it still doesn't seem right. Maybe I need to hold on to the lost thing. Don't know why I think that, but it's what I thought, so there it is. I'll have to think about it more. If I figure it out, maybe I'll let you know.
As for my e-mail, my brother and sister say I am, my grandmother and my best friend agree; so don't be fooled. I have a perfectly amenable social façade most of the time, but down at the bottom, where we all really live and have to acknowledge who we are, at least to ourselves-I am honestly a vicious bitch. However, despite my usually up-front warnings, nobody ever seems to be willing to believe it until they get nailed. So maybe all those years of acting class were worth the money after all. I think if you asked the people who were in on the last 'gun battle' though, they'd tell you how bitchy and unreasonable I can be!
The comments on the Phantom makes me wonder if anyone remembers a show called "Phantom: 2040." (I may have the title wrong.) Basically, it was the Phantom in the 21st Century. The stories, in my opinion, were much better than your run-of-the-mill Saturday morning cartoons. And the idiosyncratic way the characters were drawn reminded me of an alternative comic book come to life.
And as long as we're on the subject, did anyone here like the movie version of the Phantom? Even though it came and went in a fortnight, I thought it was pretty damn entertaining and captured some of the magic of the original comic strip.
He returns, having gotten into a staring contest with a mountain lion, trailing weeds and gobs of mud on the soles of his boots (not to mention the sole of his soul): Wow! Look at all these posts! It's going to take a few minutes to work my way through all of them, each precious and valued in their own way.
My two cents, if I may, on the matter of writing workshops (before the big boys arrive to pass judgement): There are writing workshops and there are writing workshops. There are writing workshops the likes of which Harlan Ellison does and there are writing workshops, the likes of which Harlan Ellison does NOT do. It comes down to two things: The leader of the workshop (I decline to use the terms 'teacher' or 'leader' in this context because they just don't work) and the student. If one does not do the best they can within the workshop, what's the point? You can pay five hundred dollars or more to attend a workshop overseen by the greatest scribe the world has ever known, but if YOU don't do what YOU should do, well, YOU are a very big schmuck.
My two cents.
Until next time. . .
Everyone: I have just received a bit of correspondence from Andrew Burt. Mr. Burt runs www.critters.org, a large Internet based writing workshop which has apparently helped quite a few people get published. Mr. Burt has regular workshop meetings with Ed Bryant, the author and workshop instructor Harlan mentioned earlier.
In his letter, Mr. Burt stated his intention to stop by the bulletin board himself, and that he would also pass along to Mr. Bryant my invitation to share his insights with us on this board.
Just a heads up, everyone. If you have any questions about writing programs, now might be the time to post them.
I would just love to come up with a whole slew of incredibly articulate and pertinent questions, but unfortunately I have finals I must go study for. At the moment I'll just say that I am intensely curious to see what the professionals have to say about the overall value of writing programs. I am specifically interested in the quality of writing programs at the University of Arizona (U.S. News allegedly ranked their creative writing program as one of the ten best in the country at one point, but I have been unable to verify this).
More later, and thanks in advance to Mr. Burt and Mr. Bryant!
Justin, who wishes finals were done with and that the University of Arizona would hurry up and finish processing his damn application already!
Harlan, your point about the difference between a "story" and a "reminiscence" is taken. Consider me well and truly straightened out.
HOWEVER, just to fulfill my duties as a notoriously contentious wiseass, here's one definition of the word "story," from the Merriam Webster Collegiate dictionary:
2 a : an account of incidents or events
Is this incorrect? Now, I'm not one to quibble with an author about what he or she chooses to call his or her work. The piece I mentioned in my previous post was a "reminiscence," not a "story." I gotcha. Even so, according to Merriam Webster, I wasn't COMPLETELY misusing the word.
You just let me know if I need to place a reproachful call to Merriam Webster. I'll do it, too.
It is true that I may be rationalizing, but my respect for language goes just far enough that were I forced to admit to myself that I had completely misused a word, I would have no choice but to fall upon my sword. You understand. Regardless, I do trust you a lot more than I trust old Merriam, and in the future I will stick strictly to the definitions you have provided me with, honest.
To switch tracks for a moment: I won't take up valuable board space on this subject again, but honestly--unless my parents aren't telling me something--to the best of my knowledge I am not, as you have suggested, a "member of the tribe," dear fellow. If you have somehow gleaned information about me from my posts that even I am not aware of, then I am duly impressed, but I don't think that's very likely. I must admit that I'm a bit saddened by the thought that you may have had previous experience with others who dodged the distinction "Jewish," as though it were somehow something to hide from or be ashamed of, but I assure you I am not doing that.
Back talking to his literary heroes one by one,
J
Rob - A good “in” for Proust is the short story “Sylvie” by Gerard de Nerval. It was published in 1854 and was a _massive_ influence on “In Search of Lost Time”. In many ways it’s Proust’s novel in miniature - themes, structure and conclusion. And its only about 40 pages long.
You say you like “narrative rhythm but like to get to the point” - the great point in Proust -_is_ the rhythm of Proust’s voice; how this shabby, self-pitying, trivial, snobbish valetudinarian finds a transcendence through art. Much of the writing _is_ beautiful, accompanied by incredible insights about human nature - often the worse sides. The end of the novel is when the narrator reaches a stage late in his life and realises that he now has sufficient understanding of his life to be able to write about it - what Roger Shattuck describes as Proust’s binoculars: the novel is written describing the accurate emotions and observations of the narrator at the time of the events but also at the same time taking in the perspective of the older narrator. There is plot, but it’s the plot of a lifetime where the casual remark finds heart-breaking significance twenty years, where the prospective heroes fail to make their mark and the unworthy climb to the top. Think George Eliot abetted by John Ruskin and the Grosmiths (Diary of a Nobody). Have you read “Book of the New Sun” by Gene Wolfe? It’s the same attention to microscopic detail abetting an immense life-long story arc. Although Wolfe’s sentences are much, much, much shorter - sometimes Proust tries to achieve the effect of the whole novel in two and a half page-long sentences.
Mr Ellison spoke of how some people don’t get Hemingway because he is too “macho”; for many Proust is too “feminine” - his persnickitiness, the appalling attention to detail, and in the twenty-first century we’re all egalitarians and nobody wants to know about the lives of an elite, although every new writer is proclaimed for his attention to some new corner of lower-class depravation and inequity, whose realism is “dirtier” than the last. In his own way Proust is hard and gritty. Proust _is_ a snob but he knows he’s a snob and he satirises himself, his snobbery and that of his society. If you love Nabakov, if you like John Updike then you’ll find much to approve in Proust.
Harlan -
I apologize if my comments on Henmingway were, or seemed to be, arrogant. I reread my original comments and find that I may well have not put forward my original point correctly. In other words, I fucked up royally.
Now, I may have a personal dislike of the works of Hemingway (though I will certainly concede the worth of his body of work). What I mainly object to is the worship of his work in United States high schools to the detriment of considering other, equally worthy authors.
Looking back at my comments, it's clear that I let my personal passions about Hemingway's writing cloud what I was trying to get across in my critique of the "literary establishment." I was merely trying to say that I would gladly see the teaching of Hemingway scaled back to make room for authors who should not be slighted. Unfortunately, I got carried away.
However, I will still choose to respectfully disagree on Hemingway's writing. Should his writing be taught? Of course. Do I like it? No.
Interestingly, I greatly prefer an author who reminds me of Hemingway and of yourself, Mr. Ellison, and the one deceased author that it grieves me the most that I will never meet: Raymond Carver. An author of uncommon skill who fulfilled the same function for me that Hemingway did for you - a chronicler of existence. Granted, Carver's was a smaller and in some ways more desperate existence (though in some ways less), but there's a hint of the same light you can see in Hemingway's work, peeking around the corners. Thankfully, Mr. Carver's work is starting to show up in high schools, from what I've seen.
In conclusion, I'll take my lumps for having misstated myself in my original post. I hope this works as an abashed clarification.
Regards,
Joseph J. Finn
To Harlan:
Hey! Hey! Hey! I caught that "chop-busting" accusation in your engrossing reply to Sheryl and it felt like a hot andiron on my butt. N'I havta contest it. I wuz NOT chop-busting you, I was trowling for a better understanding about your angle on the subject of the artist v. the "mere craftsmen" among the directors. OK, so some effort at proselytizing was thrown in...hmmm. Maybe I did toss one poke in the chops at that. I'm a pugilistic debater, whatya want?
N' what happened to Bunuel? You never talked about him after losing your original reply, and that business call cut in before we could discuss the man (I think your first priority was to make certain I wasn't one of these lunatics determined to coerce you into agenting my manuscripts. I'm joking). I was quite curious about your take on his work.
Now a topic shift: What did you think of the subjective writers like Proust? Though I feel I owe him another effort at some point, I tried reading Proust just before finishing high school and with all the removal of the attributes of motive and external action I have to say I really suffered. When I read, though I savor narrative rhythm, I do like to get to the point. The point in Swann's Way seemed like it was going to require a loooooooooooooooooong journey. And it wasn't even evoking anything for me. Now, by contrast, I recall a class I once took in which we were to read Melville. We read the brilliant short story 'Bartleby' and I was the ONLY one in the class (I couldn't believe it) who went totally nuts about it. Because so many readers today (er, of those in this country who DO read)are now used to a more succinct style of prose often spackled with modern slang they whine when they have to climb through the long descriptions, metaphors and complex passages of pre-20th century authors. I actually had to tell the class to think of the story as a Twilight Zone episode (which it could've been)and they started to think about it more. Yet, inside I felt I never should have had to say it. But I don't close my mind like those students did and I'd like to give Proust another shot one day because I know Remembrance of Things Past was an important landmark.
Moving forward, I recently discovered Bud Schulberg in 'What Makes Sammy Run'(and read in his forward how John Wayne bullied him for being a "commie"). The novel held a monopoly on my attention for a day that I almost took off work.
And jumping to a much different writer, a very close friend from long ago seemed hung up on Hermann Hess, an author I never explored. What has your take been on him?
HE, P.S.:
Two small things I've been meaning to get to.
1. Kerry from NSW: one of my passions is the comic strip The Phantom. As you know, though its popularity is in the past, here in the Fickle States of Amnesia, it continues apace in Oz. When I was down there, the last couple of visits, one of my great joys was obtaining T-shirts with The Phantom on them. They are fairly common, I discovered; with lots of different designs. And though I have at least half a dozen, if you happen to chance across any--size Large--I'd be most grateful (and would reimburse all costs) if you'd pick up a couple, three, four. If it isn't too great an imposition. That is to say, don't make a special trip to back of beyond, but if you're afoot in a mall, and you pass a T-shirt emporium, and you chance to glance in and see The Ghost Who Walks on a T-shirt, well, I'll make it worth yer while, mate.
2. Tim Richmond. If you're lurking hereabouts, I've been trying to call, but you've got the machine off. Talked to Barney, and he sort of filled me in about Mike and otherstuff. So I know you're semi-incommunicado. But if you care to, give Susan and me a call. Nothing urgent, just keeping tabs on friends.
Yr. pal, Harlan.
This message board is starting to tick tick bang. I am quite impressed by the output of such thoughtful people. Harlan does seem to have softened over the years, but I do think that it is for the best. You cannot piss off everyone and expect the love of the ages to wax for eternal. Harlan, welcome into the fray. I miss you on Politically Incorrect. Is there a bug up Bill Mahar's ass? Or did you just feel like not going on the show anymore? Hope to see you there soon.
The fog has lifted for a bit, but the air here in Cincinnati is still thick with danger. Harlan, what is your opinion about this riot he had here recently? Black Americans seem as fucked as ever. The talk radio here would fry your ears. I don't like seeing innocent people beat up, or see buildings burnt, but the Black community has had enough. Maybe America is ready for a major blow up. I fear for tomorrow.
I would love to see another essay book from Harly. I am shocked that publications don't scout your views out. You have the humor of a Christopher Hitchens. There is an old Vanity Fair article by him about airport security that is priceless. Funny shit. Let's all beg nicely for a new essay tome soon.
Harlan, one last thing: what is your views on Noam Chomsky? Do you read him? You do seem to have dropped out of political dissent as of late. I think Chomksy is one of our top intellectuals ever. What is your view?
Hopeing Ellison Wonderland keeps on pumping out the magic. A bow and a wave to the David Blaine of American letters.
Peace.
Oh, look! Like the sun, Harlan also rises:
Peter: As best I can tell, re your posting, re your observations about "rhythm" as the veneer that makes the storyline gleam, you are dead-on. Not full of shit by any discernible increment. It is also the hardest aspect of "teaching writing" to impart, because it is less a manifestation of craft than it is intuition. And if the tyro writer doesn't "hear the music," no amount of teaching will instill anything better than a simulacrum of rhythm, of beat, of soul if you will. Anyone who grasps the basic fundamentals of language, and who has read well elsewhere, can be taught the mechanics--sufficiently well, even, to become a professional writer--but that final increment, the one that produces Borges or Humphrey Cobb or Zoe Oldenbourg or Alfred Bester, as opposed to, say, Barbara Cartland or Michael Avallone or Peter Benchley or several dozen writers in the sf/fantasy category whose names I could list, but they're friends, some of them, and I'm already taking massive doses of vitamin C, and chicken soup, to get over a bad case of Bad Taste and Shooting Off My Big Mouth--that final increment is instinctual, something weirdly genetic, pardon my recourse to "magic." In short: right awn, Petuh.
Sheryl: I REALLY REALLY REALLY AND TRULY don't want to get into it with you, but as difficult and yawn-inducing and BORE-ing as I find Hawthorne entirely (and don't get me started on George Eliot, who almost had me off "literature" forever while I was in junior high school), your lumping into that hated cadre of Ernest Hemingway resonated badly with me. First of all, Hemingway needs no defense from me...or anyone. Any writer who can produce "Big Two-Hearted River," "The Snows of Kilimanjaro" (why do you think my corporation is called The Kilimanjaro Corporation?), "The Short, Happy Life of Francis Macomber," "The Killers" and a plethora of others, some of the best-constructed, most powerful short stories in the English language, needs no boost or encomia from the likes of me. But the committees that dispense the Nobel Prize for Literature are not always buffoons, and when they gave it to Hemingway, when he was at the height of his powers, there was no cavil from anywhere in the world, because they knew what they were doing. At his best, he was sui generis; seventy years later, all his lessons having been learned, integrated, emulated to the point of parody and beyond (the annual Harry's Bar proto-Hemingway fiction contest, f'rinstance), transmogrified and deconstructed for the greater enrichment and sinecureship of academics who must, of needs, rend the bumblebee to "discover" or "deconstruct" why, impossibly, this aerodynamically-impossible creature works...Hemingway may seem incomprehensible as an icon to, well, to you. Or others. I mean no offense, though I may be treading the line. If I slip and go over that line, be kind. I mean no offense.
But...oh, you're gonna bristle at this one, but I know of no other way to get at it...Hemingway resonates badly, I've found, for women. The apparent macho aspects of his work, the determined "guy" quality of what he says and what he's saying it about, and even HOW he says it, rankles a great many otherwise evenhanded women of intellect whose acquaintance I've made. It is as fingernails-on-the-blackboard for females as "chick flicks" are for a great many men. Including me. (While I can enjoy female-demographic-oriented films at the level of, say, "Sleepless in Seattle" or "When Harry Met Sally," I tend to develop paranoia of manipulation, as well as diabetes, from...
(Well, the list could be either alphabetical or chronological, but blessedly I can't remember the titles or minimalist plots of those few "chick flicks" Susan has required me to sit through, in the last few years, despite the sound of tooth grinding. So fill in your own titles here.)
It is not my intention to denigrate your opinion of Hemingway, no matter how wrongheaded I might personally feel it to be, but I suggest that it is as culturally amnesiac an opinion as is that of People of Color who condemn HUCKLEBERRY FINN for being racist, or GONE WITH THE WIND as a tract supportive of slavery. What parallel I draw, if you'll bear with me, is the precious interpreting of Hemingway in the singular light of contemporary attitudes. By the same token, of course James Fenimore Cooper and Thomas Hardy and Chaucer seem "dated," troublesome and irrelevent. They aren't, to be sure, despite the effectiveness of Sam Clemens's evisceration of Cooper (repaid, in kind, by Leslie Fiedler in his brilliant, scathing "Come Back to the Raft, Huck, Honey").
Literary likes and dislikes are akin to religious and political preferences. Also like Rob's endless chop-busting of me because I only think Scorsese is great and brilliant, not Olympian like Kurosawa or Fellini. If you like Dizzy, and I prefer Clifford Brown, the adoration of the one in no way diminishes the grandeur of the other. And one's animus or adoration of any given writer is always based anecdotally. You had such and such a bad or good experience, I had thus and so.
Nonetheless, Sheryl, if you feel I have any literary value at all, then you have to pay obeisance to Hemingway because, flat out, no equivocation, I would neither be a writer at all, nor the specific writer I am...today...were it not from having wallowed in Hemingway at that precisely most influential moment of my youth. At that most impressionable juncture.
I loved Dickens, I swore by Twain (who formed the basis of my theological and spiritual nature, or pragmatic version of same), I bled and cried at Steinbeck, and I reveled in Haggard and Dumas and Maupassant and Dostoevski. But I learned more, in one short story, from Hemingway, than I learned about HOW TO WRITE from all the rest of them.
You speak of him now, today, in year 2001...and he seems fustian, archaic, stilted, mannered, irrelevent TO YOU. Well, let me say, Sheryl, that in 1945-46-47-48, when I was not yet in my teens, and I was looking for literary role-models--and didn't even know I was looking--Hemingway was the peak of the big rock candy mountain (another great piece of literature, now almost totally forgotten, which you should look up, and I don't mean the Burl Ives song). He was glamorous, he was mythic, he was what every young writer wanted to be:
Daring, innovative, singularly-voiced, equipped with what he himself called (approximate quote) "a sure-fire bullshit detector," productive, hard-charging, indefatigable, honorable, feisty and just fucking plain garden variety good to read.
I learned more from Hemingway, about life and how to live it, than I ever did from anyone else, including my mother and father, the best teacher who ever taught me, any religious hustler proffering hosannahs and routes to heaven. I left home at age 13. Why the hell do you think I did that, Sheryl? My parents never beat me, I was never raped or used as child labor; yes, my situation as a kid may have been shitty in terms of where I lived in a period where Jews were widely accepted as dirty little Christ-killers, and yes, I may have had the crap kicked outta me day in and day out by the Jack Wheeldons of Painesville, Ohio...but I ran off to join the circus, to get road experience, because of what I'd read about what kind of life a writer should live. Jack Black, Jack London, Jim Tully, Mark Twain, Bret Harte...but most of all...towering over all of them...creating a hard-living superimposed pre-continuum for the young aspiring writer who wanted to take control of his life and his work, and by dominating his very existence, could become...hell...why fuck around with it...could become Harlan Ellison.
In the shadow, always, of Ernest Hemingway: Harlan forbetterorworse Ellison.
I learned, and ANYONE CAN LEARN, by reading Hemingway's best stuff, at the start of a career, more about how to turn experience into story, how to write tragedy without pity, how to live one's life and imbue one's fiction with honor; and how to live on the Road.
Joseph and Sheryl: NO, you're wrong, in my view. Your dismissive attitude re Hemingway (in which I perceive a tone of arrogance better suited to culturally ignorant teenagers who dismiss out of hand any music prior to Shania Twain than to smart cookies like you) does you no credit. I challenge you to read the brief passage in TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT in which the smuggler and gun-runner, Harry, who has had his forearm taken off by (I think) a loggerhead shark, many years before, leaving a smooth rounded stump, is in bed with a woman, and pleasures her by rubbing that silken stub between her legs...and not be moved positively and deeply by a bit of fiction that--when told in precis by me here--should, by all rights, seem at least mildly repellent. No one who could write that, or DEATH IN THE AFTERNOON--no matter how you feel about animal rights or the bestiality of the human soul that would encourage the corrida--is a writer whom you dare dismiss so cavalierly.
Geeeezus, hullee jeez. I had no idea all that was in there. What an impacted wisdom tooth!
Please forgive any intemperate remarks, Joseph, Sheryl. Oftimes my passion whips me past the point of civility, even to friends.
Explanation, but not an excuse; if I went too far, if my tone became contumelious.
Last responses (I'm a bit embarrassed).
Justin: "Valerie" is NOT, is NOT, is NOT NOT NOT a "story." You call it that twice. It is a true reminiscence. TRUE, in the sense that it actually happened. Not fiction: it is non-fiction. A real, true, retelling of a real, true thing that happened to me. Why do you think it is titled "Valerie: A True Memoir"? It is TRUE. The word "story" cannot be interchangeably used to describe an essay, an article, a column, a memoir, an exegesis, or a prologomena. A "story" is fiction, foma, an untruth. "Valerie" is true. Have I fuckin' made my point?
And you may convince others that you are a Gentile, Justin, but if you are passing as such, I urge you to flense such words as "shtumie" and "tchotchkes" from your casual comments, because goyim don't use those words, no matter HOW "yinglish" our everyday American language has become. I was right about the age and ethnicity of your Valerie and, deny it all you want, pass about among the Gentiles as a secret agent all you wish, Justin buhbulah, you don't fool me. And when the pogrom starts, don't for an instant think your WASP pose will spare you the "immersed in mayonnaise" fate of the rest of us.
And thus, I is caught up with y'all. And I go. Leaving only the saber-cut Z on your collective tuchisses. Yr. pal, out of the night when the pale moon is shining, Harlan.
Sheryl-
Would you hate me if you know my wife is a graphic designer for a educational publishing company? Believe me, she only gets a small glimmer of the whole morass of politics and moolah that is educational publishing, and it's quite enough for her.
Just for the heck of it, pick up the Tori Amos album "Boys For Pele," and you'll see what someone can do with a harpsichord that goes far beyond Mozart. Especially check out track 2, "Blood Roses." Great album for it's own sake as well.
Oh, and "October Sky" is a very good adaptation of "Rocket Boys." Great performances by the boys and by Laura Dern, and an unfairly-ignored-by-the-Academy performance by Chris Cooper (some of you might remember his as the next door father in "American Beauty"). One of the best films about the relationship between father and son, and the shifting of family politics, that I've seen. Of course, they're also shotting off rockets, so it's all good. And, for those like me who complain that they needlessly changed the title, do notice that October Sky is an anagram of Rocket Boys.
Justin -
Actually, the whole phrase is the one to be snickered (or sneered) at: "Richard Gere Movie."
Sheryl, my apologies. I'm sorry if I offended you. I've never been higher than average intelligence (which I'm fine with as long as I keep learning things on a regular basis) and logic doesn't come easily to me. I tend to think with my heart, and when I read your post all I could hear was e.e.cummings resounding in the corners of my mind, saying
when you cant die
you got to dream
and we aint got
nothing to dream
come on kid
let's go to sleep
Hmmm, speaking of poetry, I'm reminded of a time a few years back in AP English (taught, by the way, by Chris Dickerson, one of the best damn teachers I've ever had). I don't remember who I was or where I was bound, but I can remember having to memorize a poem and reciting it in front of the class ... so I bent the rules a little, called Harlan's "The Silence" a prose poem, and then presented it. I still get a sense of satisfaction fromt he uncomfortable stillness and lack of eye contact (I was gonna say "silence," but then I realized that'd make me a moron) on the part of my classmates ...
Dig yourself,
Sam
P.S. whoa, just noticed your email address, Sheryl. What's up with that? :) By which he means it doesn't seem accurate.
P.P.S. Actually, I like the harpsichord. I bet Gershwin would have dug it.
Harlan, I’m not going to, y’know, linger on this or anything, but thanks for the kind words and the inspiration. It means a lot to me and I won’t forget it.
You’re right about the shiksa, although I’m hesitant to think of her as "Gentile." If I am to classify her at all, it will be simply as "Siren"- great-granddaughter of the sea god
Phorcys. Luring me in, down on my knees, with the sweetness of her song. Dashing my brains out against the rocks then running off with a crackhead. My first and only- Valerie.
You bitch, Valerie.
Deep breaths.
...
I had a thought a moment ago (and boy did it hurt. ba da boom). This thought led me to go pawing through my copy of The Essential Ellison, the compendious tome which a high school classmate of mine once dismissed as having “too many pages.” Sure enough, right there in print was the story I just remembered from years back, “Valerie: A True Memoir.” I read that book, and that story, years ago. It would now appear as though I should have known better than to get mixed up with that broad, does it not?
SUMMATION OF THE POST THUS FAR: If she is a breathtaking beauty, if that ivory skin of hers is so silken and so invitingly warm, if holding her gaze makes you feel like the most important man on the face of the earth, and if you are ceaselessly amazed by her delicacy and her sincerity...and if her name is Valerie, tread carefully lads. After all, “Valerie” ain’t nothing but “Evil Era” misspelled.
(Like that one? It came out of a long evening of pining and resentment.)
As for myself, I am actually about as Gentile as they come. Mothers clutch their litter close to their bosoms when they see me coming. I don’t think I’m hitting too far off
the mark when I assume that I am often dismissed, at first glance, as a Waspish frat boy jock, a card-carrying Young Republican, a serial sorority rapist!
No one sees my true self, the soft little underbelly: the young, sensitive, passionate writer; the saccharine romantic with a fondness for puppies and long walks in the park.
What I’m saying here, basically, is that no one sees the side of me that I have methodically cultivated in order to lure women into bed.
It just occurred to me that “no one” includes any girls I'm interested in. Drats...I’ll have to work on taming the rampaging Schutz Staffel impression I must be making.
Mr. Finn: No, it’s not wrong to laugh at the Richard Gere reference. I threw it in there as an intentional joke. At that stage of the post, I figured any readers I still had left would be needing a bit of relief from what was essentially little more than a diatribe on the development of my current aversion to accumulating tchotchkes. It was an easy joke though. “Richard Gere.” The words just sit there on the screen waiting to be snickered at relentlessly.
Sheryl: Thanks for the tip. I’ll be sure to avoid that particular “writing instructor.” And I hope you reclaim that dream one of these days.
Anyhoo, thanks to everyone for accommodating these lengthy missives of mine. I do tend to bang on a bit. My fingers are like leaky spigots whenever they hover over a keyboard, and I can’t stop the little bastards from dancing. Goodnight everyone.
J
Kerry: I was almost off to bed, and then comes you and your Down Under elephant jokes.
Here's one back at you from my 4 year old nephew, who thinks yours is quite a good one, but I am firmly informed in ringing soprano tones, that "this is the best el'phant joke EVER, Aunt Sheryl, you tell that man", Take it seriously, or I'm going to be in *big trouble * with my little man. Ready?
Q: How do you kill a purple elephant?
A: Oh, you shoot 'im with your purple elephant gun.
Q: OK, then, how do you kill a white elephant?
A: Duh! You strangle him till he turns purple, and then shoot him with your purple elephant gun!
(Clearly, this joke proves that my poor, innocent Miah is going to a preschool run by the NRA J)
And an odd thing: I literally just finished (just before I logged on!) reading "Rocket Boys", which is Homer Hickam Jr.'s memoir of growing up in a West Virginia coal mining company town. Really a nice piece of work. I haven't seen the movie that's been made of it-did anyone see "October Sky"??-but a very neatly executed piece of resurrecting a significant event in history, and the effects of that moment on a very small group of boys. I recommend it when you're looking for a book to just relax with, no serious struggle required.
Sorry to post this twice, but I noticed two errors too egregious to let slide.
Wendy, that sounds like something from a Peter Straub novel. A
lot of Straub's stories explore this tension between what we call the real world and this other, more heightened reality.
Sheryl: I know exactly what you're saying but you explained it in a more elegant and complete way than I've heard before. When I was going to college in Chicago, one of my instructors informed the class that we were reading Toni Morrison's "The Bluest Eye" because "it's about time we got away from all those dead, white European males." While I have enormous respect and admiration for Morrison's work, I think dividing books along racial lines isn't helping anyone. And just because someone's dead doesn't mean his/her book dies as well.
Wendy, that sounds like something from a Peter Straub novel. A lot of Straub's stories explore this tension between what we call the real world and this other, more heightened reality.
Sheryl: I know exactly what you're saying about but you explained it in a more elegant and complete way than I've heard before. When I was going to college in Chicago, one of my instructors informed the class that we were reading Toni Morrison's "The Bluest Eye" because "it's about time we got away from all those dead, white European males." While I have enormous respect and admiration for Morrison's work, I think dividing books along recial lines isn't helping anyone. And just because someone's dead doesn't mean his/her book dies as well.
G’day all,
So many posts! So a few comments.
The ambiguity of your identity on the internet. I’m male, and I wonder how many people thought I was female?
A thread earlier about comics piqued my interest. As a youngster I had a large comic collection, which disappeared in my teen years and hasn’t been seen since. So I went and had a look at some of the graphic novels that were available, and after several hours of looking at this boards recommendations, and others, I’ve purchased my first “comics” in 20 years.
Dream career? Well, my Nan delights in telling that when I was a child, I used to say I wanted to fix computers (and be an astronaut and a fighter pilot and…). What happened was having to leave high school and becoming a Fitter and Machinist/Mine Mechanic, working in a mine for 13 years. The mine closed, I was retrenched, and I was exhilarated. I had spent 13 years in a career that in reality I hated. Hey, its my fault, I’m not blaming anyone but me, I could have left any time, it was just easier to stay. The Rut had set in. So then I spent 2 years in training, and my last 7 as a Help Desk Support and Network Administration assistant at my local Council. I fix computers, and fix other peoples problems with them. Life is better.
More quaint phrases have been remembered. “You weren’t born in a tent” i.e. close the bloody door, and my Nan come up with one “Dog in a manger”, which is something you don’t want and wouldn’t wish upon a stranger. I’ll also offer up the Australian “stone the flamin’ crows” which can be used in place of “I am shocked/stunned/awed/amazed/annoyed”, although you don’t hear it much these days. I know its been said before about we children of the box/silverscreen, but my parents got there catchlines from there parents, who got them from their’s etc, where we seem to get most of them from Hollywood. I wonder if many of the older sayings will survive as living colloquialisms.
Well, I’m off to read Edgeworks 1. I’ve gone from owning no Harlan Ellison books to 6, with 1 on the way from HERC, in just over a month.
See you round like a rissole.
Kerry
PS.
Question - Why do ducks have webbed? Answer - For stamping out forest fires.
Question - Why do Elephants have flat feet? Answer - For stamping out burning ducks.
(Blame Harlan, he did a joke first)
I can't remember the year, or even if it was Mike Hodel or Harlan Ellison who was hosting, but years ago on Hour 25 (KPFK) I heard a story. The parts I remember are that, in a world where hunger and even bad weather are under control, a person gets a glimpse of something behind what is thought to be the normative state of reality...and,for just a moment, through this shimmering breakdown of the "real world," sees another reality. As he investigates he begins to see that what everyone believes about the world in thier everyday life is a cover like the skin of an onion, layer upon layer of realities...lies covering lies, if you will. I also remember at the end he discovers worse case...people are starving in the cold, snowy streets in poverty and disease and vermin. If this strikes a chord of memory in anyone out there, and they can remember the title, the author and possibly who hosted and read that story on Hour 25 many years ago, I would appreciate hearing from you or reading an answer posted here!
Can y'all tell my boss took the day off?
John: You're right, there are those who can incubate a case of pernicious anemia in something even as impervious to literary over-analysis as "The Princess Bride." But it really is at least as much about what's being chosen as it is how it's being taught. There enormous are political swamps to be navigated to change any of it. There are relationships between suppliers and districts, suppliers and educational publishers, ed publishers and publishing houses, and so on, like a Faberge shampoo commercial. Every one of those relationships is based on Moolah, the Almighty God in charge of Making the World Go Around. Each entity-including your very own school administration, right down to the department chair who has control over the discretionary novel money, worships at that altar. And you must observe the web of Moolah's followers if you want anything. One year, 3 of us in an English department of 25 wanted to purchase "The Princess Bride" as the discretionary novel for the 9th grade. This would mean it could be taught by any teacher who chose it, and who could schedule to check it out for their class. This would entail buying 300 books, which they called a classroom set. We had to get 10 other teachers, only 2 of whom would ever conceivably use the book, to agree that this was a wise purchase-oh, but first, we had to make sure it was on the "list of available curricular sources" that came from the supplier, and the ed publisher, etc., and you get the picture.
Did we get them? Yes. BUT we were asked to quid pro quo support the purchase of 100 "Afro-American Reader" text for use in a "literature of diversity" class for honors level seniors. If the texts were purchased and the school offered the class, then there were extra "diversity funds" that the school could apply for, and you see how this all falls out, don't you? Like I said, the problem is in the choices of canon as much as it is in bad teaching/teachers. Most of the choices are dictated by the political philosophies of the district administration/school board, and thus it follows that texts are chosen according to how effectively they help to indoctrinate the kids under their alleged supervision to their particular cause. I was appalled at what was being chosen in California, until I saw the list of what a college classmate who'd moved to Montana had on his list.
Did you thought that the special interest lobbies only had offices in Washington D.C.?
Joesph: The harpsichord and Rachmaninoff? Or a Joplin rag? Or Gershwin? Eeuuww!
Cavalaxis: I don't like westerns either. My Papa was a Indian Cowboy, and he told much better true stories than I've ever found in any western, so I've never found them remotely appealing. I'm not sure offhand how I'd define what it is that Larry McMurtry writes, but they're something different than a western. Western is just sort of the jumping off place for him, I think. Would respectfully suggest it's a bit of an overgeneralization to put the poor guy in the same "genre" as Max Brand, Louis L'Amour and that freaky soft-porn western serial character…oh, hell, I've forgotten the name of them, but I had to take one away from a kid once because he was reading some really disgusting parts of it out loud to his buddies during free reading. Please don't lock poor Larry in the box with them!
I agree with most of the postings so far; certain teachers have a way of bleeding the life out of literary classics. But playing devil's advocate for a moment, think about how many people would never be exposed to such great stories except for the effort of said teachers. Those of us who decide to tackle Shakespeare on our own and even find entertainment in the endeavor are a dedicated few.
Briefly:
I noticed on Terry Moore's Strangers In Paradise website (a textbook in how to have a good promotional site, www.strangersinparadise.com) that he has Mr. Ellison has the first novelist in "Terry's Recommended Reading."
Cavalaxis -
May I recommend a essay collection that I think you'll get a kick out of? It's "Ex Libris," by Anne Fadiman, and her stories of her family are similar to yours (including a great story of them critiquing restaurant menus for typos). Wonderful addition to anyone's "Books on Books" shelf along with "A Gentle Madness," about bibliomania.
Sheryl -
I would have killed to have been in that class. High school students having fun with "Taming of the Shrew?" Hot damn tamale. I guess I was lucky enough to attend a Jesuit high school, so we had the grounding Greco-Roman history necessary to appreciate JC (of course, I did take Latin for two years (I sucked at it, but you have to learn something by exposure)). One of my biggest regrets from high school was that I never went on my school's summer Classics tour (the year they went on a tour of Roman Spain sounded fascinating). One of these years I'm going to go on that - they actually make it a student/alumni tour.
Y'know, a preview button might help some of these post-posting editorial posts: Disabuse *us* of the notion...
::sigh::
C.
"And I have needed the strengths that the crushing of that dream gave me the opportunity to gain." Sheryl, I think that's the answer right there. I often wonder what lesson I'm supposed to be learning this time around the wheel. Another family saying. "Adapt, improvise, overcome."
As to the pitiful nature of high school education: I moved from Texas to California and basically repeated my eighth grade English class my freshman year, then proceeded to help the teacher grade papers. You see, I'm the recovering daughter of a English teacher. My mother scoffs at spell-checkers. When I was six, we played Scrabble at my house, not Chutes & Ladders. Memories of Trivial Pursuit at our house makes The Weakest Link look like child's play. Crosswords were done in ball-point pen. To do any less was to admit weakness.
Someone upstairs smiled down on me when I met Richard Wilson. Mr. Wilson who clandestinely gave me a copy of George Carlin's Class Clown. Who actively berated the other staff for their slavish devotion to Hemingway, to the point of passing out copies of the Worst of Hemingway Contest submissions to disabuse of the notion that good ol' Ernest was the second coming. Who managed to bully, and I do mean *bully* the adminstration into letting him teach what he damn well wanted for the class The Novel. They never had a chance against his pure Bostonian charm.
So, I was among the lucky few that actually spent a whole semester dissecting Dune. Yeah - that's right. Dune, by Frank Herbert. I was one of the few that attempted to make it through his 'Suggested Reading' list: Stranger in a Strange Land, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, Time Enough For Love, The Foundation Trilogy, The Martian Chronicles. I read so much so quickly I don't remember half of it. (My goal for summer vacation is to read everything that's actually on my bookshelf, after I purge it of my mother's clandestine contributions. I don't care if Larry McMurtry was her teaching assistant at Rice. I don't *like* westerns!)
And one of my life's saddest moments was coming home from college my freshman year to thoughts of sharing the first semester with my favorite teacher, only to discover he had succumbed to bone cancer. He'd had it for five odd years and hadn't told any of us, even when his spine resembled swiss cheese and he lost all his hair. He just told us all the Yankess were goin' all the way as long as he wore that ball cap. We still get together and contemplate donating a volume of Hemingway's Collected Works to the library in his name, as a parting jest that would earn us all a smack in the back of the head.
Random Thoughts: I think I'm gonna get a t-shirt made that says "W*R*I*T*E*R" in big white-on-black letters just for the helluva it. And my current favorite Shakespeare is Titus (Andronicus) as portrayed by Sir Anthony Hopkins. I highly recommend it (the film), especially to this group. And finally, this was the last place I expected to see an AYBABTU reference. I liken that phenomenon to visual haiku, only sillier.
Until later,
C.
Joseph: See, it’s exactly this kind of stuff that makes Shakespeare’s adaptations of history such compelling theatre-I DO think JC is a marvelous script, as you clearly do-but it’s also the very reason that it’s completely the wrong thing to teach in high school. You can’t really do it the justice it deserves, and all that happens is that you make kids hate WS because it’s being mishandled in *multiple * directions. It would take 6 weeks of Greco-Roman history, instruction in script analysis, scene rehearsals and critiques, and access to a solid performance to do the thing right. On the other hand, you can do a just a little script analysis training, and read R&J out loud, and you can capture a whiff of the thing, anyway. Same thing with Taming; you can read it aloud and catch it, because the clarity of the underlying commedia makes it accessible, the same way teenage angst make R&J accessible to most kids.
This I know for certain, because a conspiratorial (and incidentally retiring that year) department head and I IGNORED the principal at one school I taught at, handed out a typed summary of JC to my classes, and of Othello to hers, (so they would know what the questions on the SAT were referring to when they took it) and then spent the allotted 3 weeks on “Taming” instead. We called it a “team-teaching” experiment, shoved the sophomores and the seniors all onto the stage, and just went wild with it. It was hysterical fun, and nobody said “I hate Shakespeare” one single time the whole 3 weeks. AND a bunch of them had such a good time, they tried out for the spring musical. I’d already decided that wasn’t the school for me, so who cared if the principal was happy or not?
I have more than once been accused of being a rabble-rousing rebel, but it’s only when I know I’m right!:-)
Sheryl,
Are you trying to make me destroy my keyboard? I nearly spit coffee all over it. Nature of society indeed....
Personally, I find JC fascinating for the choices that Brutus feels he has to make. Not to stretch the anology (or, as my wife would put it, play the "Find the Christ Figure" game), but Brutus is in many ways a sympathetic character in the way that Judas Iscariot is, struggling to do what he feels is best for himself and for the good of Rome (if you consider some of the modern interpratations of Iscariot, which speculate that he was a Macabee trying to liberate the Palestine province). Of course, he opened the way for Octavius and his cronies to take over and create the Empire, but I think he really was trying to do the right thing.
Of course, if you want to get into the rumors that Gaius Julius Caesar has a very passionate affair with Servilia, mother of Marcus Brutus, I won't stop you. Ah, what a tangled web those Romans wove...which makes Plutarch's "Lives" all the more enjoyable reading. To quote:
"It is said that Caesar had so great a regard for him that he ordered his commanders by no means to kill Brutus in the battle, but to spare him, if possible, and bring him safe to him, if he would willingly surrender himself; but if he made any resistance, to suffer him to escape rather than do him any violence. And this he is believed to have done out of a tenderness to Servilia, the mother of Brutus; for Caesar had, it seems, in his youth been very intimate with her, and she passionately in love with him; and, considering that Brutus was born about that time in which their loves were at the highest, Caesar had a belief that he was his own child. The story is told that, when the great question of the conspiracy of Catiline, which had like to have been the destruction of the commonwealth, was debated in the senate, Cato and Caesar were both standing up, contending together on the decision to be come to; at which time a little note was delivered to Caesar from without, which he took and read silently to himself. Upon this, Cato cried out aloud, and accused Caesar of holding correspondence with and receiving letters from the enemies of the commonwealth; and when many other senators exclaimed against it, Caesar delivered the note as he had received it to Cato, who reading it found it to be a love-letter from his own sister Servilia, and threw it back again to Caesar with the words, "Keep it, you drunkard," and returned to the subject of the debate. So public and notorious was Servilia's love to Caesar."
Now that's hoisting Cato on his own petard, considering how much of a Stoic he was. Fun family, eh?
Joseph: Didn't you take notes on what English teacher told you? It's called "Julius Caesar" because JC is the catalyst that drives the conspirators to their various actions, each according to his nature, which nature illustrates some aspect of the nature of society.
I know this to be true, because I have the department approved unit notes.
Correction: It's "All your base are belong to us".
Hence: "All your HARLAN are belong to us".
I really gotta get a life.
No, Joseph, it's actually all your HARLAN belong to us!!!!!
Man, I've been hanging around these wicked boards for waaaayyyyyy too long.
Gunther -
You learned English from computer games? Does that mean all your base belong to us?
Note for those who haven't had the joke explained yet: this "internet phrase" is from a bad translation of an old Capcom game into English about some sort of alien invaders taking over military bases.
God, what an incredible number of posts in these last few days. I've seen one or two complaining about computers (and of course I know Mr. Ellison's stance towards them), so let me share this with you:
My first language is German; I come from Austria. The English teachers I had in school were mostly idiots, doing the same things over and over again. So I had to mostly teach it to myself.
I did this in two ways. One - reading as many English books as I could get my hands on. Note that back in those days (and this may sound stupid as I'm only 24, but it's true) it was impossible to get English books at all in the small town where I lived and still not easy in the larger city some thirty miles away, every trip to which was like a journey across the globe for young me.
Fortunately, my aunt spent much of her time in the USA, and would bring along such goods as C. S. Lewis' Narnia Chronicles or Ursula K. LeGuin's Earthsea books, which I eagerly devoured.
The other part was --
computer games.
Yup, a large chunk of my English comes from playing good old-fashioned adventure games on the computer (back then, an immensely expensive IBM laptop with an incredible 4.77 MHz)
What's the point? Computers *are* good for something after all. I guess. (I also make money by programming them, so this is still true.)
Joseph - I'm not so sure it's shoddy research as much as it is the overuse in the media of "the Dark Knight" as a stylish catch-all for all things Batman. I'd wager the thought process went thusly: Ross had done Batman covers, including the hundreth issue of "Legends of a Dark Knight", and, well, we can't use "Man of Steel" in the headline and then juxtapose it with "Batman" - so...
It sounds like somebody was trying to be cool and hip and now and slapped the generic "Dark Knight" nickname in there for the sake of overused-nickname symmetry, which is really kind of jarring when you're in the know about who has done what in the comic world...
Before I get to the individual responses, a little…erm…rant.
Newcity, a free weekly here in Chicago, has an article on comic artist Alex Ross in their April 19th issue (cover by Ross, by the way). Now, it’s a pretty decent article. Fairly well written and fair to Mr. Ross. I do recommend it for my compatriots in the Chicago area who can get their mitts on one.
HOWEVER
The freaking headline on the cover says “Man of Steel: Sam Weller takes on “Dark Knight” comic genius Alex Ross”
Sigh.
Would it have taken so long to check this in editing? I know headline writers are curiously divorced from the body copy in newspapers, but you think they could refrain from attributing a work to Mr. Ross that a hell of a lot of people know is not his!
Hell, I just checked, and it’s on the website version of the story as well. Check out newcitychicago.com and click on the left sidebar link for “features.” Story’s still pretty good.
Sheryl -
I love a woman on a soapbox. Brings a smile to my heart.
I’ll agree with you on the problems of trying to teach scripts (oh, I’m sorry Mr. Educator (not you, Sheryl), “plays”) to students. It just doesn’t work to simply read and discuss. They have to see it performed. Strangely, the first time I ever saw a live performance of Shakespeare was in high school, when my Lit class went to see, of all things, “King John” at the Shakespeare Repertory (back when they were in the Ruth Page Theatre). THAT was when I first appreciated Shakespeare (well, and a week later when I saw “Ran” for the first time).
That said, I have a higher opinion of “Julius Caesar” than many people (I personally think it would have done well to be named “Brutus”), but I agree that there are better Shakespearean works. Of course, I'm addicted to anything about Republican Rome. Ever looked at Colleen McCullough's "First Man In Rome" series? They're surprisingly good.
As for Hemingway and Fitzgerald, I’ll simply disagree. I think F. Scott is a bit better than you say. A simple difference of opinion.
Twain’s “Literary Offenses” got me in trouble in high school because I was reading it during a math class and couldn’t stop laughing every two seconds. Got detention for that one, I did. I’m grinning just thinking of the example of the river barge and Cooper’s cigar-store Indians.
I am with you 100% on the ethnicity-for-ethnicity’s sake. There’s so much good stuff in “world literature” that to toss in junk for the sake of diversity is insulting to great authors like Octavia Butler. Don’t even get me started on genre literature classes, either. The biggest insult to a work is to pigeonhole it and make sure that only the students who seek it out will have the works exposed to them. “Detective Fiction?” Pah! Nobody should be leaving high school and college who has not been exposed to the great detective literature of the 20th Century! More Marlowe! “The Maltese Falcon!” Great works should be taught, not marginalized.
By the way, have you thought of trying the harpsichord?
Finder -
Thanks for the advice on Final Cut Pro. I’m definitely going to look into my options. Simply upgrading to Premiere 6 would be cheaper, but I just might go with a native Apple program.
Well, clearly the /a/ isn't working correctly on my keyboard, as I just read over my last bit, and some are missing. Please insert as makes sense...
Joseph: You don’t really want a defected-from-their-bullshit-system English teacher to get started on the high school approved canon, do you? But I’ll give you a very minimal taste of my “why the hell would I want to inflict this sh** on a kid” list, if you like. Let me set up my soap box.
In random order as they occur to me:
1. “Julius Caesar.” WHY? When there are 35 other god forsaken Shakespearean plays they haven’t read, including “Taming of the Shrew,” and all of Marlowe and Johnson stand unaddressed, does the educational establishment want to foist this particular thing on every sophomore in the country? WHY, oh Master of the Universe, WHY????? It’s not a bad thing, it’s just not the right thing for high school.
2. Hemingway. You’re absolutely right about Ernie H. I’ve heard he’s the master of the simple sentence, but does that mean the son of a motherless goat can’t use anything else? Jesus, please us. Perhaps my feelings about Hemingway are exaggerated because I grew up less than 100 miles from Ketchum and he’s a hometown-boy-made-good-hero, but I don’t think so. I think he’s just disgustingly overrated drunk with a bunch of deformed cats who only got published because The New Yorker had pages to fill.
3. Put F. Scott Fitzgerald in the same box with Ernie. “Gatsby” is the biggest load of self-indulgent crap I’ve ever been threatened with firing over. If I were going to burn a book, it would be that one.
4. James Fenimore Cooper. Please see Twain’s “Literary Offenses of Fenimore Cooper.” The master elucidates the troubles with Cooper far more clearly than I ever could, and more importantly, he’s got Cooper dead to rights. Although Daniel Day Lewis was cute in the leather. I would wait for him to find me.
5. “Bartelby the Scrivener.” ARE WE TRYING TO KILL STUDENTS? Because this monstrosity seems like a pretty clear attempted murder. Where is Sam Waterston when you really need him?
6. Ethnic literature for the sake of ethnicity, in general. There are BRILLIANT works that draw on minority experiences that should be included in every student’s educational experience because they truly expand the understanding of our mutual humanity (“Bless Me, Ultima”, and “The Chosen” are two off the top of my head.) But the preponderance of what’s approved for curricular use is divisive, self-pitying bullshit designed to make kids who aren’t of a definable ethnic strain feel indefinably bad just because they aren’t, and to promote an unfounded sense of entitlement in those who are, just because they are. This crap, incidentally, is why Dr. King’s prayer for the contents of our characters hasn’t come to pass, IMHO.
7. Teaching “plays” in general. WHY ARE WE TEACHING SCRIPTS THAT ARE MEANT TO BE PRODUCED AS IF THEY WERE GOD DAMNED SHORT STORIES?? And the one that’s the worst? The very worst “play” you can possibly teach? “The Diary of Anne Frank.” (Why can’t we just read the diary? What are they afraid of? Will the Nazi’s look bad and have hurt feelings?) And second only by a hair, “The Miracle Worker.” You have to see this to get it.
I have to get off the soapbox now, or I never will. Additions to the list, anyone?
Sam: What are you saying? Is every orchestra, every venue going to provide a smaller Steinway for my hands? Logic, my love, logic. I don’t subscribe, I’m afraid, to the philosophy of “accommodating differences” anyway. That’s more educational sophistry. Reality is as it is, and one must deal with what it is, particularly when it’s harsh reality. Insurmountable obstacles-the ones that force you to fail, learn, and to find other dreams in place of those that fail-are necessary, too. I know you know this, Sam; my piano is how I had to learn it. It was the only thing, then, that meant enough for the lesson to take. And I have needed the strengths that the crushing of that dream gave me the opportunity to gain. It was a more than fair trade; it’s just one I wouldn’t have chosen to make, given my ‘druthers, as Peg put it.
About writing workshops: That’s another dream, one I’m working my way back to slowly. It’s an ugly story as to how that one got mashed within an inch of its life, but let me just put out one specific warning to those of you who are actively working on it. Avoid at ALL COSTS any workshop that includes in its staff guy called Frank (or Franklin) Fisher. He thinks he’s a W*R*I*T*E*R, but he’s a poseur and a prick, and he leaves wholesale destruction in his wake.
Joseph - Final Cut Pro fully supports firewire, and also supports third-party plug-ins (including, I'm told, plug-ins for Adobe After-Effects). Though the learning curve was steep (I'd never done any editing prior to FCP), once I got into it up to my elbows, I found it to be as powerful as I need for right now. I've been able to do some fairly good effects shots without having to go to outside software packages, though After Effects is in the running for the role of Next Big Purchase...
The current project (in as much as I can share) combines parody of a cult TV show with a fish-out-of-water scenario; and at the same time, I'll be filming segments of two other short films - one of our actors is potentially moving to the West Coast, so we've had to bump up some filming to complete his portion of a short trilogy that's in the works, just in case. I'm loving every minute of it.
And a VX-2000 would be sweet... maybe next year... who needs to eat, really?
Ms. Lorin ... oops. Sorry. :) And yes, I do blame your mother. And regarding "sticking to posts of a reasonable length", I say "Why bother?" Write as much as you want to; those who don't wish to read it all can choose to skim, and that way you won't be depriving anyone else from the full benefits of your visiting this board. Of course, do whatever you want to do and feel free to ignore anyone and everyone else's advice if that's what's best.
Sheryl ... god didn't make your hands too small, Steinway makes them pianos too damn big. Sad thing is, I'm serious. I know they make 3/4 size cellos, for instance ... and so unless it's physically impossible to construct I'm sure you could find a scaled-down piano. If you really want to look at it as god having reasons to make your hands too small, couldn't it at least be possible s/he did it to see how much it really meant to you? Maybe s/he's thinking "What if I place this obstacle in her way? Is she just gonna give up, or is she gonna work around it?" Just a thought.
Metaphors be with you,
Sam
I've been trying to respond to posts properly for the last two days and my brain has rebelled against me every time. Maybe this time I'll be able to get something down before my internal editor starts moving my finger toward the delete key...
It's been half a decade since I was in high school, but I've spent many an hour pondering just what it was I learned there. About the time I had my crises, both existential and academic, I discovered that the reason I didn't learn much in high school was because they didn't teach the right lessons. Take old Willy Shakespeare as a for instance... In high school I must have read Romeo and Juliet, Othello, Hamlet, Much Ado About Nothing, and The Tempest. Only, unless I was watching them on stage, I was normally bored to tears. Why? Because the people in charge of my education in all matters Shakespeare completely ignored the music of his plays and focused on plot and characters. To focus on his plot and characters is to focus on contrivances and cardboard as far as I'm concerned. What distinguishes old Willy S. from most everybody else are the rhythms of his words. I only figured this out recently. It's why I loved watching productions of his plays and detested reading the scripts, because I would try and read the text straight without turning on my internal metronome.
This is also why high schools insist on teaching The Scarlet Letter. It is relatively simple to understand with obvious symbols that even the most inept teacher can force down a student's throat. They focus on plot and characters and symbolisms, all the while ignoring the music of the language, the rhythm of a well tuned sentence, the beat of the paragraphs.
This also goes into a response for what makes literature last and the usefulness of a workshop. A good story, one that makes an impression, one that lasts, is one that sings to us. Even Hemingway, in his way, sung to us -- even though it was a simple song. For years I've been reading about how a writer has got to find his voice. What I didn't understand for a long while as I practiced this craft was that a voice needed rhythm. It wasn't enough to tell a story. I've had some pretty damn clever ideas over the last few years, but I hadn't hit my rhythm yet, I hadn't found my voice. I was writing with two left feet. A good writing workshop, like the one I'm in now, will not only point out what works and doesn't work in plot and character, but will also point out what works in music and rhythm. It will help you find a beat. This was also why I love metrical poetry and always thought that something that looked metrically constructed was superior to most "straight from the brain" free verse.
Of course there are several on this board better versed in all things written than I, including a six-time 11 year-old (is that accurate?) who can all tell me I'm full of shit. And I might be, but this is just what feels right (write?) to me. I still believe that story is king when it comes to writing. Without a story the words are meaningless, the rhythms just empty beats. However, without music, even the best, most exciting stories can become white noise, the electrical buzz of flickering fluoresent lights, the whine of an idling engine.
Okay. I feel happy with this response. Hopefully my brain won't shut down again.
---Peter
Finder-
We are going to be shooting with a Sony TRV-310 (god, I wish I had a VX-2000) and editing with Adobe Premiere 5.1c on my iMac DV+ (the 366 MHz model). I’m seriously considering upgrading soon to Premiere 6 for the native firewire capabilities, but please answer a question for me: how is Apple Final Cut Pro, in your experience? Does it support firewire and third-party plug-ins well? Also, what is your project about?
Sheryl & Jeff -
You seem to have feeling about “The Scarlet Letter” that I have about the works of Hemingway. I never could quite understand the Hemingway worship that goes on in United States high schools. In a world with Isaac Bashevis Singer, Jorge Luis Borges, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Flannery O’Connor and many others, why high schools focus so much on one author (and one I personally consider a third-tier author) to the detriment of exposing students to the great works of the 20th Century is beyond me.
Whoah. That was a mouthful of a sentence, wasn’t it?
Justin -
Is it wrong that in your highly interesting memoir below, I laughed out loud at the Richard Gere movie joke? Nice touch.
Oh, and my other dream job? F-14 Tomcat pilot. I’m not even talking combat flight. I just want to fly that baby over Nevada for a couple of hours. Goddamn Flight Simulator and Fly2K! They’re far too good of simulations these days and make you really want to be a pilot. But, I made a pledge to my wife that I would never take flying lessons. She’s fairly afraid to fly and she’d be a complete nervous wreck.
Harlan to Justin:
A couple of observations re: your revelatory posting.
1. For eighteen years old, kiddo, you write INFINITELY better than I did at that age. Whatever you decide to make of your existence, Justin, continue writing. You have the gift, you hear the music. I am sparing with urgings like that, as you probably know; and when I proffer it, there usually proceeds from that point someone who has integrated "writing" in his/her life. So from time to time, whatever you're working at--job, school, family, marriage--write an essay, or an article, or a short story...intended for publication.
What a sensible, talented, remarkable little-Jewish-fellow-who- shouldn't-have-been-dating-a-shiksa-that-young-to-begin-with you are. And when you express surprise that I kenned you were a MOT and that the girl who dumped you was Gentile, remember what I said about reading the Sherlock Holmes stories as the best tool for leading a life that you alone control.
Yr. pal, Harlan. The all-wise. The all-knowing.
Oh, THAT dream job. The one that hurts because I can't have it. Well, I guess I trust you, Peg.
Classical concert pianist. But my hands are too small. It seemed possible when I was younger, because I was quite good, but I reached a point my junior year in high school where even though I could READ the music, my hands wouldn't REACH the music. It happens a lot more than you'd think, really. I tried to pretend for 2 years that it was that I wasn't practicing enough, that I wasn't focusing enough--anything but face the truth. I finally HAD to face it when I went to an audition for the piano performance program I wanted to enter. I listened to the others, and I knew what I sounded like, and I looked at everyone else's--including the professors'--hands, and I couldn't deny it anymore. I had to stop playing; it felt like I was bleeding all over the keys for that dream every time I touched them. My hands weren't going to grow, and I had reached the limits of what I could play, and it wasn't enough. I had to quit, or bleed to death.
My piano still sits in my parent's living room. I've always lived in upstairs apartments with no elevators so I had an excuse not to take it. It's been more than 15 years, and I still can't look that piano in the face every day. I can spend the weekend with the man I was supposed to marry and his wife and adorable kids, knowing it could/should have been me and not her, but I can't look at that piano. The only thing I think I truly regret in life is that I will never be the pianist I know in my soul I could have been, because God made my hands too small. I'm sure he had His reasons, but it doesn't hurt any less for all of that.
From Harlan to Lorin O.:
One need never tug one's forelock at suspected "verbosity" when the posting is as charming, as sensible, and as heartfelt as yours. Pray do not lurk, but return full-voice whenever. And give the baby a kiss from all of us.
Yr. pal, Harlan.
Thanks, Joseph and Sam and all the rest of you for slogging through my late-night meanderings. One tiny clarification...not that it matters in these basically genderless environs, but Lorin = gal, not guy. It's a common mistake, given the spelling of my name. Blame my mom for that one!
Over and out,
Lorin
(Sticking to posts of a reasonable length.)
Hmm Dream job well since Neil Armstong beat me to the moon. I'm settleing for my second dream job one that does not pay well or keep me in caviar and champagne but fills my quiet times and much of my spare time and that is I'm a reader yep I read not as much as I did as a kid or in the Navy (hey ya got keep occupied somehow during those long cruises to nowhere). I started reading the big classics like Asimov Clarke and Heinlein and then Whoa I discovered Mr.Ellison's work! No other author has consistantly taken me off on a divergent tangent like his work has. OK I was going to expand on that but I won't overfeed his ego too much today! I can sum his impact on me simply as a swift kick in the mind that grabbed me by the soul and dragged my mind into many new worlds and thoughts. For that I will always be grateful.
Putty.
I'm on two different meds for my sinus infection. One gets me all wired up. I had the dream where I could fly if I had webbed hands last night. And yes, they're letting me operate machinery and write operating procedures today. Heh heh heh.
Putty.
Not puddy (which didn't look right, which conjured up the mental image of Tweety even as I typed it, tawting he taw one)
Putty.
Credibility is fleeting. But the blush of public ignorance, well that just goes on and on...
Justin - it took me until about age 30 to come to grips with what you already have a bead on with regards to the big corporate job and the over-complication of life. It's a good thing to understand before you're in hock up to your neck and tithed to the company, and you'll be much better off, I suspect, for that clarity at this point in your life.
Peg - Actually, I have no qualms about being the "sensitive" Beatle. I just want to find the right hand in which to be puddy...
P.S. - Finder, I just loved your example!! While you might be able to make yourself insensitive to loud noises through therapy, you'd have to fundamentally change your personality to stop being a softy.
Besides, we like you soft - it's easier to manipulate you that way...
I really enjoy being an engineer and insofar as *earning a living* goes, I doubt I'd find anything else with a better combination of interesting problems, techy bits, fun people, and a paycheck sizable enough to support the other things in life I enjoy. My current situation isn't the best example, though, and I will change that situation if it hasn't improved when I reach a particular (already defined) limit. I'm happy being me, living my life; all the parts of my life don't have to be perfect for that to occur. Same goes for the job.
As for dream jobs, well, maybe that wasn't the best term. What I was trying to get at was - Is there something you would do for a living if you had your druthers, but was not a possibility in reality? Like wishing you could be an olympian caliber high jumper when you're only 5'2". It just ain't gonna happen. There's an implication of an unacheivable level of skill and, secondarily, success at said job. The topic was not about the whole "just do it" attitude.
I think Lorin nailed what I meant with the phrase natural aptitude. Sure, I could go out on street corners and wail away, but it wouldn't be very good and I'd starve. I suppose the former should be more important philosophically.
I have no interest in trying to make a living doing something I'm not good at and never will be (barring technology which could physically alter my vocal cords) as I'll perpetually disappoint myself. Like Lorin's technical musician, I could train myself into being able to perform but who would want to listen? I'm honest enough with myself to know that limitation.
Now, if there is something you consider to be your dream job, and there is some way you could be made capable of doing it, well then I think folks here have a point - go out and do it, even if it's gonna take some time.
'Course, that's just my viewpoint and y'all are all welcome to think I'm a big lazy wussie-girl.
Peg
Oops, sorry Lorin. There should have been a "very" between "a" and "smart".
argh
Once again dipping into my trash bag of ideas ...
Cookie, you strike me as that rare breed of teacher who does not tell students what to think but rather encourages thought and trust in one's own faculties ... which is my way of saying, you seem really cool. It's too bad that there are so many people out there who pervert the intent of art into elitist exclusion ... and it's very sad that we don't have very many Leonard Bernsteins around to show us that it's all jazz and that you don't need a stick up your ass to enjoy it. Art should never be used as a tool to "prove" that you're superior to someone else, but that is how 90% of the classical musicians I've played with use it, that is how 90% of the lit majors I've run into use it, that is how 90% of museum curators use it, etc. I miss Lenny.
Well, on the subject of catch-phrases ... first off, isn't it kinda ironic, in light of Rick's Rant, that a lot of our catch-phrases come from pop culture? I'm no exception: the ones I'll mention here come from the adventures of Tintin and Snowy, et. al. By far the most durable (in my family at least) expressions are gleaned from Thompson and Thomson, two dimwitted detectives who just happen to look exactly alike (and their names always sound alike, no matter the language; Dupond and Dupont in French, for example). Thus:
"With a 'P', as in 'psychology.'" -- Used to identify which Thompson is speaking on the telephone
or the immortal:
"Dumb's the word, that's our motto."
And of course Captain Haddock's barrage of obscure insults ("bashi-bazouk", for instance) is bound to rub off on anyone who reads those books.
Lorin: you're a smart guy.
Harlan: Damn you, you stole my response to the dream job discussion (except that I was gonna put "Sam Reed" where you put "Harlan Ellison") ... now I'll have to come up with something else. I make the most out of every moment I have, but I guess if pinned down my response would be the same as Peg's ... except that I'm still deluding(?) myself that I can make it despite my crappy voice. Maybe that's the foolishness of youth or maybe it's the foolishness of knowing Bob Dylan's work ("Gee perfessor! If BOB can do it, why can't *I*?") ... but the lesson Bob lives is a good one: You don't have to be the greatest guitar player or singer or whatever, as long as you enjoy what you do, as long as it means something to you and you do it with every electrical impulse running through your body, it will be rewarding to you, and that is all that matters.
Of course, I'm currently unemployed, but I'm not gonna mention that as it might detract from my credibility.
-Sam
Lorin-
Let's just say that your story about your niece had this Catholic-turned-Jew alsmot involuntarily performing the Sign of the Cross. God bless that she is doing do well.
Thanks to everyone who responded to my earlier post about creative writing programs. I’ve found the response to be tremendously helpful and insightful! I’ll certainly
take your advice to heart, Harlan. I will search for Mr. Bryant’s e-mail address and invite him to visit the board. I will also make up a list of questions for potential writing
instructors, as you suggested. I’ll tell ‘em, “Harlan Ellison suggested I give you this little examination before we continue, if you don’t mind.” If they don’t begin to fidget nervously or quiver in some way upon hearing the words “Harlan Ellison suggested I give you this little examination” then I’m just leaving the classroom right then and there. Ah, it looks as though I’ve already come up with one test for them to pass, this is going swimmingly! Anyway, if interest in the topic persists, I’ll make certain to post additional insights which I am sure to gather from others involved in writing programs.
On the subject of “dream jobs” I find I have something to say as well, but in a somewhat ponderous way, so I hope you’ll bear with me folks.
I’ve worked for the past two years at a “multimedia” company which I’m sure most of you hear about every day on the news (the Inner-Party legalities restrict me from specifically identifying which company I work for. Sorry- but don’t worry, I run little sabotage missions against them from within, muhaha, to get back at them for their crap). But you’ve heard of the company. Trust me on this one.
I’ve spent the past six months concentrating primarily on school, but for a good year and a half I was entirely wrapped up in the new job at the high-profile corporation. I
felt successful, and quickly moved away from home and into what I deemed to be a very stylish and sexy apartment. Then came the “stuff”- I was doubtlessly a dutiful consumer. Within three months I had entirely cocooned myself in this world of complete physical and material comfort. I was basically shackling myself to a corporation so that I could then further enslave myself to “stuff,” and hide from the big, nasty old world. I was eighteen and had all the smarts of a barnacle goose.
Nevertheless, I did have the vague sense that something was terribly wrong. When I lost my girl (she didn’t die or anything, this isn’t a Richard Gere movie, she just ran off
with some schmendrick), I was left to ponder my situation all alone in my antiseptic little world. I became restless, and I discovered that I’d tied myself down to all this extraneous
crap that I suddenly realized meant absolutely nothing. My life had become soulless. The kind of job so many people my age seem to want--the corporate job with the stock options
and the promises of millions (ha!)--I got. And it sucks. I'll leave the job this summer when I finally "go away" to college, and I won't be weeping over it.
It’s just harsh reality out there in the job market, no dreams. Those are internal, and I’d rather spend my dream tokens on spaceships and girls. The point being that I’ve found it immeasurably more useful to know what I DO NOT want to do with the rest of my life, rather than what I “dream” of doing. I’ve spent too long working with the people with the crushed souls- living the corporate life so they can keep the juice running
constantly into their television sets at home. The average Americans, living lives of quiet desperation. I would rather gouge my eyes out with a knotty old stick than turn into that.
I’m not looking down on a way of life some people may find happiness in, I would never do that, but it just isn’t for me. Perhaps possessing an absolute certainty about what you
don’t want in life is more valuable than dreaming of what you do want.
I’ve spent the past two years surrounded by people, at work and at school, who somehow managed for all the wrong reasons to get tangled up in a crushing mediocrity
that will likely last them the rest of their lives, and it makes me sad. As for me, I’ve learned to value SIMPLICITY and MOBILITY. I will hold onto them both, and therefore hold onto my freedom. I won’t make the mistake of letting it go again. Maybe if I do have a "dream job," it's just anything I can walk away from when I'm finished with it, rather than when it's finished with me.
Yeah, I might get sqwooshed like a bug out there.
...but at least the bastards aren’t going to get me without a fight. Not this time.
Summation: If you hate your job and want something different, then just pay off your debts, quit your job (and write it off as a good education in what you don’t want out
of the rest of your days), sell your stuff, pawn off the spouse and kids, and go live like a Bohemian. It beats standing around a water cooler talking about the stock market, don’t it?
Doin' the whole resistance thingy,
J
My GOD, I just read back over my post and am mortified at my verbosity. I had no idea I went on for as long as THAT. My most-humble apologies.
I swear, I'll just sit and read for at least the next week!
Bowing...scraping...giving someone ELSE a little room...
Lorin
So many wonderful posts, so little time...
Funny, have been thinking about the "dream job" issue all day and had finally come to the conclusion that I actually HAVE my dream job (though I assumed we weren't to count writing in the equation). Actually, it's dream jobS, which suits my somewhat mercurial temperament just fine. I write; I edit; I teach. What's been hanging me up lately is the issue of proportion. I do more editing than writing--I'm good at it, and it's extraordinarily gratifying--when I'd like the reverse to be true. So, that's what's on my plate these days: re-ordering my world, my life, my finances, so I can move writing to the top of the pyramid.
I have to say that when I read HE's post, I thought, "Well, hell, I'd like to be Harlan Ellison too!" But, of course, the job is currently being filled by the most qualified candidate. :) Still, it occurs to me that with all this talk, we can take a page out of the man's book: be the best damn ________ (fill in your name here) you know how to be. (God, I hope this doesn't sound unctuous or condescending. I wish tone translated a lot better in these forums than it does!) As much as I admire his work, I have to say that I admire what I perceive to be his fearlessness and ruthless integrity just as much. So, that's what I'm working toward - with my own slant, of course. And, at 35, I'm beginning to see the proverbial light.
Re: BRAZIL - Chris, I don't know if you've ever read the book about the making of the film. I think it's called "The Battle of Brazil," but don't hold me to it. It's a fascinating account. Anyway, as I recall, the studio beat Gilliam up pretty extensively over his planned ending, which was, I think, even more bleak than the way it ends now. What THEY wanted was for the movie to end with Sam's fantasy of driving away with Jill. What Gilliam originally had was just a cut to black after we discover Sam has been tortured to near-death. So, the current ending IS a more upbeat choice in its way, and I agree with your assessment (not that you asked ME, but what the heck, I'm just barrelling right in here). Sam ends the movie with his ability to escape, albeit only mentally, intact. The system couldn't beat THAT out of him, though they could take everything, and everyone, else.
RE: Writing workshops...well, I don't want to go into this too deeply, because I'm one of those people who, I hope, can both DO and TEACH. I agree with Mr. Ellison that people are wise to investigate the credentials of anybody who purports to be expert enough to teach writing (or any subject for that matter). I also think, and a dozen or so years of experience in the field have supported this view, that there are some elements of writing that can be taught and some that are a lot tougher to convey. Like anything else, some people have natural aptitude in writing; some don't. Some people understand, through reading-osmosis, what it means to tell a story. Some people could read five-hundred books a year and still never quite "get" it. They lack the "ear." But, I have seen some people I would have pegged as pretty well "tone-deaf" make remarkable strides with just a bit of concrete instruction. So, you never know. Or at least *I* never know. Mostly I think it's true that reading A LOT and writing A LOT are the best forms of education available to a would-be writer.
Re: the longevity of writers...what occurred to me is the sense of wanting to duplicate an experience, the experience one has in reading a really fabulous piece of writing. What brings me back to an author again and again is that rush I get in reading his/her work, the challenge to my intelligence, my emotional involvement with his/her characters, that feeling of hurtling (or floating) toward the end of a book but hating for it to end at the same time. It's a little like wanting to go back to the same restaurant over and over, even if you're going to select different meals each time. Maybe it's a little bit like drugs or alcohol or anything else that's potentially addictive.
None of that, for me, has to do with genre. The authors I like tend to slip around in terms of their commercial categorization. But I understand why genre works are so popular, and I think it has to do with the above, the desire to experience a certain kind of "reading high" over and over again. Maybe that high gets diluted after a while, especially if one sticks to only a handful of authors or one genre, but it's got a reliability about it that makes it attractive.
Well, that's about it. I'll beg your indulgence for just one more second here, though, and interject something a bit personal. I'm away from home now, visiting family in Houston, TX, for my niece's one-year-birthday celebration. Usually, I'd tell my sister she's nuts to throw the kind of bash she has planned for a baby who would be just as happy playing with, or in, a cardboard box all day. Only, my niece was born with the most seriously defective heart her doctors had ever seen. She had one chamber, rather than the usual four, and nothing seemed to be connected the way it should be. No one knew how long she'd live outside the womb, if at all. And yet here she is, three surgeries and a lot of medication later, a gregarious, adorable, healthy kid. At least for now. So, I guess the message is that life is fleeting and precious and surprising. And for me one of the greatest surprises and recent pleasures has been to find this message board and this level of discourse. So, I thank you.
And now I'll send this before I chicken out completely. Thanks for taking the time to read my thesis! Oy!
-- Lorin
Another from the file of bizarre (extended) family sayings, as long as we're being less than tasteful:
"Come on Fate, you fickle bitch. Let's Fuck!" W.Hatfield, my SO
Must be a combination of nitro-cellulose and testosterone poisoning.
C.
Harlan, far from being insufferable, your comments had me in hysterics! Imagine if everyone was excited about who they were and what they did. There'd be less misery and less envy. My dad has an expression that some find less than charming: "Sometimes you gotta trip over your own dick." In other words, don't be afraid to fuck up; at least you tried.
Harlan--Your post reminded me of a quote I found somewhere, and while it will be horribly embarrassing if it turns out its origins lie within one of your stories, I may as well post it anyway (the more I think of it, the more I seem remember it coming from a Terry Pratchett novel, but I could be wrong). I don't remember the exact phrase, but it was something like: I happen to be living my life, which, I'll have you know, has heretofore never been attempted.
Sheryl--Odd you should mention The Scarlet Letter. I may've mentioned this--I have the funniest feeling that I have--but we just finished reading that in my class. Suffice to say that I wish every teacher fought it as vehemently as you apparently did. And I don't know about where you come from, but around here, our teachers quit because The District insists on keeping them two doors down from the poor house.
~Jeff
Joseph - What are you filming with? I ask because I'm working along the same lines, shooting with a Sony TRV-900 and doing post production on a G4 with Final Cut Pro. Been at it about a year now; just finished my fourth short, and the next begins filming Memorial Day weekend. I'm contemplating something feature length for next year, if I can get the script flowing again. Good luck with your project.
The Subject adresses the Subjugatees:
You're either going to hate this a great bunch, or you're going to implode, "Oh, bite me, Hubrisman," or you'll find it so obvious and smug that we'll never be able to pinch claws again...but...
My dream job is being a Harlan Ellison.
It is the fargin' coolest job in the world, and only one person could snag it, and I GOT IT, and it is so major kewl (except for never having climbed Kilimanjaro, or getting to be a plumber) (although I was a truck driver and a tuna fisherman and a printer's devil and a bricklayer and a garbage man and a lot of other work-with-your-hands great jobs) that when I glom so many others of you talking about "dream jobs," all I want to do is yell, STOP DREAMING ABOUT IT, JERK, GO GET PREPARED ENOUGH TO LIVE IT!
See, I told you it was going to be so insufferable that you'd hate it. But what the hell did you expect from me? After all, I AM working at the best job in the world.
Humility ain't in my job description.
Humbly, but nonetheless, yr. pal, Harlan.
My dream career would be to support myself with a combination of writing and voiceover work.
I'm not sure about the difference between a writer and a w*r*i*t*e*r, except that maybe one is the movie and the other is the television series.
I had more to say, but my words are rebelling against me today.
---Peter
Fantasy jobs, huh?
I wanna be an on-staff director for a repertory company at a LORT theatre, with no budgetary constraints and a skilled company, doing 5-7 shows a year somewhere it never snows and there are no hurricanes.
Leads, anyone? I can do stage lighting design, too…
My dream job? To be a film director. I’m in the process right now of putting together a project for the fall, being written by my best friend, that I think will be a great start. We’re starting out small, filming on digital video, but I think this has the potential to be pretty good. Thank God for modern programs like iMovie, Premiere and the like. They allow a limited budgeted person, like me, to do stuff (editing, effects, etc. ) that would have been far outside of my means even five years ago.
Considering I originally wanted to be a planetary scientist when I was growing up, I find it appropriate to use another line from “Closer to Fine”: “There’s more than one answer to these questions / Pointing me in a crooked line.”
Mr. Ellison - Your comment about the uplifting ending to “I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream” reminds me of when you were speaking at Harper College in Palatine, IL, back in 1998 (?). Somebody asked the same basic question about your stories supposedly never having happy endings, and you gave a similar response to the question. Someone else in the audience then rebutted with “Who has a happy ending in that story?” I couldn’t help myself and blurted out “Why, AM of course.” I believe your response was along the lines of “No, you fool! AM is a vicious monster!”
Regards,
Joseph J. Finn
I was on a road trip with my students last week. One of them was complaining about the dreary work of music school. I told him, "There are two things that will make you hate music: Music school and the music business. If you can deal with those two things and still want nothing more than to be a musician, then it's probably your thing and nothing will stop you."
Harlan,
[MINOR SPOILER WARNING ON THE MOVIE BRAZIL IN CASE ANYONE HASN'T SEEN IT]
Do you feel that Terry Gilliam's _Brazil_ also has a happy ending somewhat similar to "I Have No Mouth?"
I've debated Brazil with other people for a while. They think the ending is unbearably depressing. And I may be dead wrong about it but I've always thought it was the sign of his ultimate victory. His superpower, as it were, was the ability to resist conformity and even if he might be left a vegetable at the end, he still won. He escaped into his own mind and the big powerful forces of conformity can never get to him. He went out on his own terms.
Of course, I could be totally wrong. And even if I'm right, maybe you don't think it's at all similar to "I Have No Mouth" but I always felt there was some resemblance between the two endings.