Monet's Lilies Shuddering

lucky pt 2

I realize that I haven't given much of a book review for this as of yet. Just a personal reaction... Here's a more formal review.

"lucky" is a brave, intelligent and unsentimental examination of rape and its aftermath. At times raw, funny, intimate, and devastating, Sebold does a tremendous thing. She takes her experience and writes a book about a community, a society in which rape can and does happen. The book is not only about herself, it is about the every person she touches on her journey and how they change and are changed by their interaction. The people you will meet in this book are extraordinary, because they are everywhere. It's astonishing. I think it can't all be real, she must be making this up. This woman lived only twenty minutes from where I've lived my whole life. The mild Philadelphia suburbs. She attended Syracuse. Manicured lawns, decent dorms, well lighted quads.

The strange thing is, after reading this book you realize that Alice, for all the undeserved violence and terrible life-shattering events, actually is comparatively lucky. She makes the point that her innocence - her virginity, her baggy clothes, her utter sobriety, the observable cuts and bruises, all were to her advantage. And still, when her father hears that the rapist dropped the knife (unbeknownst to her) early in their struggle, he says "How could you have been raped if he didn't have a knife?"

I won't give more away. I will just repeat that this book is more than worthwhile. It will open a world to you that has been here all along. It may not be pretty, but it is searingly, achingly human.

"You save yourself or remain unsaved." You don't have to be raped to learn from that.

Ferlinghetti Unfurled

One upon a time I had meant to put up the inspiration for title of the blog, but never did. A tribute my favorite beat poet.

[Constantly Risking Absurdity]

(excerpt)

Constantly risking absurdity
and death
whenever he performs
above the heads
of his audience
the poet like an acrobat
climbs on rime
to a high wire of his own making

[Monet's Lilies Shuddering]

Monet never knew
he was painting his 'Lilies' for
a lady from the Chicago Art Institute
who went to France and filmed
today's lilies
by the 'Bridge at Giverny'
a leaf afloat among them
the film of which now flickers
at the entrance to his framed visions
with a Debussy piano soundtrack
flooding with a new flourescence (fleur-essence?)
and rooms and rooms of
water lilies.

Monet caught a Cloud in a Pond
in 1903
and got a first glimpse
of its lilies
and for twenty years returned
again and again to paint them
which now gives us the impression
that he floated thru life on them
and their reflections
which he also didn't know
we would have occasion
to reflect upon

Anymore than he could know
that John Cage would be playing a
'Cello with Melody-driven Electronics'
tonight at the University of Chicago
And making those Lilies shudder and shed
black light.

I love the last two lines of the first stanza

"and rooms and rooms of water lilies..."

These aren't in exact form becasue I'm having trouble setting tabs in html. Read these and other works in one of my favorite collectionsThese Are My Rivers: New & Selected Poems 1955-1993

Sebastian Faulks ~ There's More!

I've done a bit of poking around - small bits of research I should have done perhaps before I wrote my raving little review.

I came across many reviews of Birdsong, none of which found any fault with the book whatever, let alone a structural flaw. I'm not saying that I'm wrong, and I am not at all changing my view, I'm simpy reiterating the fact that this is merely my personal opinion, that's all.

I also discovered that Birdsong is the second of what has been described as Faulk’s “trio of French novels”.

The first of these was released in 1991. The Girl at the Lion D'or is the tale of a troubled young girl in a little French town called Janviellers during the 1930's. The final book in the trio details the life of its title character, Charlotte Gray, a young Scottish woman in WWII England.

Okay, the summations I've provided are quite trite; I've not read either of these novels yet.

But Charlotte Gray will be next because, although only released in 1999, 2001 saw the wide release film version of the book, by Australian director Gillian Armstrong and starring a woman I consider to be one of the most talented film actresses of today, Cate Blanchette.

Armstrong is an Australian director who has won numerous awards for her work, including the Women in Hollywood Icon Award for her lifetime contribution to the industry.

Armstrong earlier directed Blanchette and Ralph Fiennes in the ultra disturbing (to me) Oscar and Lucinda.
Extremely well-acted, well-shot, and interesting story the last 20 or 30 of minutes of which are almost unbearable to watch. I will give away only that there is no happy ending, not really. I reveal this bit because I was so unprepared and astounded by the creeping and compounded turn of negative events, that I’m sure I will not watch the film again. (In fact, I should hardly write about it as it’s been several years and the details are merely a wash of hope turned to chagrin.) And this says a lot because I will watch any film featuring Blanchette (hence “Bandits”: a cute flick, but worth renting for her performance alone), and highly respect the work of Fiennes as well. I had, in fact, rented Oscar and Lucinda immediately following the release of Schindler’s List in a desperate attempt to smear the hideous image of Amon Goeth from my trembling mind. I was fairly sure no film in which I saw this man, straight through the end of time, would be able to do the trick. Of course, I was wrong.

The Most Incredible, Wildly-Effecting, Memorable, and Structurally-Flawed Book I've Ever Read

I've just finished Birdsong, by Sebastian Faulks. My god, can this man write. There are parts of this book which will be seared into my consciousness for all time. And I'm not easily "wowed". Really.

I'm not sure how to say it more plainly. I highly recommend you read this book. You. Whoever you are.

I will try to explain without revealing too much of the plot, and in my view, with any book, this mean virtually none of the plot at all...I'll see what I can do.

Most of the book revolves around Stephen Wraysford, and nearly two-thirds of the book deals with Stephen Wraysford as a British solider during WWI. This two thirds is the absolute gem of the book. Language, imagery, and details that if you’d thought and imagined for hours about life in and around the front during this war...you'd never come up with. Unless you served at the front line of a war, or very near it, and as much as we've all seen Saving Private Ryan, as much as we tend to wear this information age with pride, and feel informed about all sorts of unthinkables, trench warfare being perhaps the least of them… you will be blown away. Um, no pun...

But this isn't a book about the horrors of war. Nor is it a book about human triumph, quite. It's a book about humanity: extraordinary, vile, and ordinary. It’s filled with the kind of details which bind a well-paced plot, variously drawn characters and requisite series of obstacles into a world which strips away the reader’s armchair, the Starbucks coffee growing cold upon the table, the very identity of the reader herself. The kind of details which take an ordinarily good book and make it great.

Read a small excerpt.

But wait, structurally-flawed you say?

Yes, I do. The first 130 pages, while not horrendous by any yardstick, are lengthy and mediocre enough to let me several time consider abandoning the novel. By page 132, I was hooked. The beginning is a protracted telling of Stephen’s young love, combined with an ample and un-subtle nod to the social and political strife preceding labor unions. Okay – these experiences help us to understand Stephen as we later meet him in the war. Still I say, 130 pages flounder when 65 would have done nicely. But this alone is minor and would not be enough for me to brand such a work as “structurally flawed”.

The bigger flaw is this.

It is the leap, the jarring and unrewarding plunge from the riveting life-or-death world of 1916 (and right off one of the most affecting scenes in the book) smack into 1978 where we meet Elizabeth – a young single woman with the single-woman problems akin to selecting a chic wine for dinner, and choosing between the men who’d like to date her. I, the once fastened reader, believe we have jetted into a new era, that Stephen and the war are gone for good, and I am ready to put down the novel yet again.

But I push through, finding that within 35 pages I have been introduced to thirteen new characters including Elizabeth who we find, after learning about her love life, her fashion sense, and her choice of food at parties, is on the trail of learning about her grandfather Stephen Wraysford.

Then right back to the war.

We revisit Elizabeth again for the final few pages of the book after we’ve seen Stephen “real-time” through most of what he has to offer, plot-wise. But Elizabeth grandly uncovers for us a secret we readers knew about all along.

This book is structurally flawed because Elizabeth shouldn’t be there. The tying of past and present together by way of a present character who strives to find themselves by digging into an ancestor’s life…well, it’s been done. And it’s being done more and more often. There are some very good books written with that structure, in fact. But the core of Birdsong is so eloquent, so startlingly fresh, that it doesn’t need this. In fact, even if the writing in these sections didn’t noticeably suffer, the technique itself is, in my opinion, beneath such an otherwise rare and beautiful book.