September 2005 Archives

Well, I had to read "To the Lighthouse" for my literature seminar, and I know just about every write loves this novel and talks about how its their inspiration for writing and everything but I just didn't like it. It's stream of consciousness gobbledygook with no coherent plot, it's high-handed musings on death, and it plays obnoxious but too-obvious tricks on the reader, and the point of view flows from one mind to another with no change of voice.

The plot of the book can be summed up as follows:
1. They don't go to a lighthouse.
2. There is a brief interlude where parenthetical expressions let you know that some people died.
3. They go to a lighthouse.

Other things that annoyed me about the book:
- Since you spend so much time in people's heads, conversations of four sentences literally take twenty pages.
- The characters are essentially psychic, reading each others' minds rather than having actual dialogue. In fact, Woolf often points out how the characters seem to know other characters are thinking as if by "ESP." These are not characters, they are metaphorical shells with which Woolf plays literary games.
- I don't actually believe any of these characters. Everyone seems to talk about how this book is soooo realistic because you're so deep in the characters' heads, but I didn't buy any of it. Everything was so artificial.

Anyway, those were just a few of my problems.

I had to go online and find some summary notes of the book because I thought I must have completely missed the whole point. It turns out I understood it quite well, and, in fact, even got most of the important symbolism, even though I skimmed half of the thing in frustration. (Yes, okay, to be totally honest I have to I admit that I skimmed a lot of it, but I went back and made sure I'd read all of it later. I read at least 150 pages before I started skimming.)

After discussing the book in class my opinion has only wavered slightly. My instructor, David Gates, is fantastic, and he can dissect a book or short story with the skill of a literary surgeon, but not even he could convince me to like a book I didn't like. He did convince me, however, that "To the Lighthouse" is an important book for a writer to read and understand. The fact that the construction of the book is so apparent and Woolf's hand is visible in every line was the intention. I guess that's why so many writers like the book - you can practically SEE the writing process - but to me it just makes me think Woolf was a pretentious writer and thought she was better than everyone else. Which, apparently, is true.

The long and unending saga is ended, making it both short and contradictory: I have an apartment in NYC! Finally, after months of searching, I have semi-moved into a great place on Houston Street. My new bed is being delivered on Tuesday morning and next weekend I will be renting a truck and picking up the remaining boxes and furniture from my free storage unit in NJ (formerly known as my parents' house). While I'm still making the painful commute to small town Pennsylvania every Thursday and Friday until my work obligations are concluded, at least I have an actual apartment to put all my stuff.

But I know that you, the reader, are wondering how YOU benefit from this news. Well, it means that my web server is back, humming along in my new IKEA desk (alas my former desk does not fit in my tiny NY place and will remain with my folks until I have a bigger home again), and as soon as I get a cable modem the original feature-rich MixedMetaphors.net will be back online.

To continue with the boring, non-absurdist updates, I have begun my MFA program and so far am getting a lot out of it. I submitted my first short story to class last Monday and we'll be workshopping it tonight, so I am a bit nervous. (Okay, extremely nervous.) Workshopping a story is a bit like taking your clothes off in a subway train and having people say, "Well, I suppose it is enjoyable, but perhaps this section could be longer, and, seriously, do you really expect anyone to buy that ending?" I've heard horror stories about MFA classes decimating other student submissions, though our first day of workshopping was fairly friendly. I'm hoping the kindness continues.

A recent comment on my site brought it to my attention that only two blogspot-ers have listed "absurdist theater" in their profile interests list, one of those two blogspot-ers being me. This seemed like an impossibility. EVERYONE loves absurdist theater. But, no, it's sadly true. Perhaps, I thought, our fellow blogspot-ers have all taken their love of absurdist theater as a given and therefore failed to list it. Then it occurred to me that everybody else had listed "theater of the absurd" instead (which, according to various dictionaries, is the correct term). No luck. Apparently, not only are there only two blogspot-ers who consider "absurdist theater" an interest, but also we are unified in our stubborn desire to refer to it incorrectly.

Why "theater of the absurd" instead of "absurdist theater"? Let me be clear: I know the term "absurdist theater" is technically incorrect. Dictionary.com defines "theater of the absurd" as "A form of drama that emphasizes the absurdity of human existence by employing disjointed, repetitious, and meaningless dialogue, purposeless and confusing situations, and plots that lack realistic or logical development." Dictionary.com defines "absurdist theater" as "No entry was found in the dictionary. Would you like to search the Web for absurdist theater?" Hmmm... Good idea. Searching on Google for "theater of the absurd" provides 139,000 results. Searching on Google for "absurdist theater" provides 644 results. Considering you can enter gibberish into Google and get over 1000 results, that's a pretty poor showing. And while 139,000 results is nothing compared to the 224 million listings you get when you enter "sex," it's still a hands down victory for "theater of the absurd."

So, you ask, what's my point? And why, you ask, am I writing this at 5:30 in the morning. Let me answer those questions in reverse order: 2) I can't sleep and 1) I don't really have a point. In fact, you might even refer to this as a form of blog that emphasizes the absurdity of human existence by employing disjointed, repetitious, and meaningless dialogue, purposeless and confusing situations, and posts that lack realistic or logical development.

One final note: In an attempt to research why one term is used over the other, I went crazy and entered "theater of the absurd" and "absurdist theater" into Google AT THE SAME TIME (both in quotes). Strangely, I got 814 results, more results than when I entered a LESS specific search string. I guess I don't fully understand the mostly-random magic that is Google. Needless to say, I didn't find an answer. I think perhaps this is like asking why we call cheese "cheese" instead of... I don't know, instead of calling it something else. Yes, there's an etymological explanation as to why we call it cheese, but there's no explanation as to why we didn't name it any of the other infinite possible combinations of letters.

After I enjoyed "War Trash" so much my girlfriend bought me Ha Jin's earlier novel, "Waiting." It too is an excellent book and I really like Ha Jin. I've been reading it for a week or two though I put it aside to read "Sense and Sensibility" for class. It was interesting to read the two novels at the same time because there are some strange similarities. One is about early 1800s England and one is about contemporary China (or China in the 1960s through 1980s). But in both the obligations and duty regarding relationships that binds the characters is so much stronger (and different) than anything in modern American culture. The main character in "Waiting" (Lin Kong) could be another version of the character Edward Ferrars is "Sense and Sensibility," both are quiet, well-meaning, and proper men who love one woman but are bound by an obligation to another.

Actually, the book that this REALLY reminds me of is "Enemies: A Love Story" by Isaac Bashevis Singer, which is also a fantastic novel. The plots are actually quite similar, and the main characters are truly cross-continental dopplegangers. I feel like I could write a paper comparing the two books. I read "Enemies: A Love Story" because my brother recommended it to me, and I feel my brother should read "Waiting" to round out his literary review of quiet, duty-bound, partially-empty men bound to multiple women.

My first assignment for graduate school was to read Jane Austen's "Sense and Sensibility." It was the first book I've read by Jane Austen and it was quite good. I'm not running out to read all her other books but I would certainly not complain if I had to read more. It's sort of like early 1800s chick lit, but, you know, the high quality chick lit, not one of the pulp paperbacks.

I found it particularly amusing that in the novel characters use the phrase "making love" to refer to a man having an intimate conversation with a woman. But I suppose that's actually a more literal use of the words because it is when a man is making a woman love him.

I probably would have more to say but I am sort of lightheaded with allergy medicine right now. Apparently my NYC allergies are reacting to something. Maybe I just have a cold. Anyway, I just finished another book I have to record here as well so I'm going to get on with it and then go to bed.