Arrears blogging: April 18 -- Reading is bad for you

In resolution, he plunged himself so deeply in his reading of these books, as he spent many times in the lecture of them whole days and nights; and in the end, through his little sleep and much reading, he dried up his brains in such sort as he lost wholly his judgment.

First Faust, and now Don Quixote: the great authors seem to agree that getting way into books is a good way to go crazy. But where Faust was moody and changeable, Quixote is the same thing always -- the loser who thinks he's a winner, perhaps my favorite comic conceit, and one that almost always works because who doesn't like feeling superior to a character who doesn't realize that people are feeling superior to him?

What also always works is the physical comedy. This seems like a Mr. Bean sketch (and I should add that I don't really like Mr. Bean, except that as someone who's appallingly clumsy I often find myself in Mr. Bean-like situations while, e.g., making coffee):

for by reason his helmet was on, and his beaver lifted, he could put nothing into his mouth himself if others did not help him to find the way, and therefore one of those ladies served his turn in that; but it was altogether impossible to give him drink after that manner, and would have remained so for ever, if the innkeeper had not bored a cane, and setting the one end in his mouth, poured down the wine at the other: all which he suffered most patiently, because he would not break the ribbons of his helmet.

I like the idea that they missed a couple of times with the cane, too, thereby getting wine under the armor.

In the end, I think I would prefer it if Quixote got into Heaven ahead of Faust, even if they are equally full of book-begotten delusions of grandeur. Tragedy is as common as grad students, but fools suffer for their passions too, and with much less complaining.

October 10: Telenovela

Not to overlook Cervantes's irony and wit, which you hear so much about and which is probably completely lost in this translation, but he knows how to bring the cliche:

The youth took off his cap at last, and, shaking his head to the one and other part, did dishevel and discover such beautiful hairs as those of Phoebus might justly emulate them; and thereby they knew the supposed swain to be a delicate woman; yea, and the fairest that ever the first two had seen in their lives...

Good heavens, anonymous youth, you're beautiful! That cliche never goes out of style. It worked in "She Blinded Me With Science" and it worked here, in the 16th century.

There is also virtue ravaged:

‘All the reasons here rehearsed I said unto him, and many more which now are fallen out of mind, but yet proved of no efficacy to wean him from his obstinate purpose; even like unto one that goeth to buy, with intention never to pay for what he takes, and therefore never considers the price, worth, or defect of the stuff he takes to credit....All these demands and answers did I, in an instant, revolve in mine imagination, and found myself chiefly forced (how I cannot tell) to assent to his petition by the witnesses he invoked, the tears he shed, and finally by his sweet disposition and comely feature, which, accompanied with so many arguments of unfeigned affection, were able to conquer and enthrall any other heart, though it were as free and wary as mine own.

Which ends as you might think it would:

...for, after a man hath satisfied that which the appetite covets, the greatest delight it can take after is to apart itself from the place where the desire was accomplished. I say this, because Don Fernando did hasten his departure from me: by my maid’s industry, who was the very same that had brought him into my chamber, he was got in the street before dawning.

And it gets worse for our poor unfortunate Dorothea, when she goes on the lam:

...my good servant, until then faithful and trusty, rather incited by his villainy than my beauty... solicited me of love, with little shame and less fear of God, or respect of myself; and now seeing that I answered his impudences with severe and reprehensive words... he began to use his force; but Heaven, which seldom or never neglects the just man’s assistance, did so favour my proceedings, as with my weak forces, and very little labour, I threw him down a steep rock...

Mur...der! Or at least man...slaughter! It's pretty lurid all the way around. And Cervantes has (at least in these excerpts I've read) earned his luridness, because she's telling her story to the same idiots we saw bumbling around burning books three weeks ago. It's hard to lure in us sophisticates if you're all-telenovela-all-the-time. But Cervantes has used our sense of superiority to suck us in, and now we're very interested in this waxed-mustache melodrama, just like a normal person would be. (Naturally the excerpt ends on a cliffhanger, I had to google around to find out what happens next.)

September 26: Delusional

In my "relevant" translation of Don Quixote, this chapter would take place here.

This is the part in Don Quixote where the Don spends the night at an inn, which he thinks is a castle, and has to watch his arms overnight in the side yard (chapel) so that in the morning the innkeeper (noble lord) can confirm him in his folly (knight-errancy).

As always it's better to be a true believer than a skeptic, for the Don emerges from his evening unscathed (or, more precisely, he's braced for scathing, so he doesn't really feel it), while the innkeeper, who "when he heard him speak in that manner; and that he might have an occasion of laughter, he resolved to feed his humour that night" winds up having two of his guests clubbed by the Don and, in the end, "without demanding of him anything for his lodging, he suffered him to depart in a fortunate hour." It doesn't do to be too skeptical, maybe; or, if you are skeptical, maybe you should give the true believers a wide berth.

In some ways this reminds me of the current financial crisis (but everything does, right now) -- the Don believes that this crappy inn is actually a high-end castle that could use a new 1-year ARM; full of theories of chivalry and finance, he is confident such a place can always be flipped. And the innkeeper is a practical man who lets himself get sucked in, thinking that this theory is crazy but he can take advantage of it, only to wind up stiffed at the end. While the true believer rides serenely on, probably to a commentary position at CNBC.

September 19/20: Peoples of the Books (let's blog two today)

Note to Muslim fanatics: please don't kill me. Note to Disney lawyers: ditto.

As it turns out, yesterday's reading (Don Quixote), and today's (Koran), both partake of that wonderful cocktail -- fire, books, and religion:

‘Yet, on mine honesty,’ replied the curate, ‘his father’s goodness shall nothing avail him. Take this book, old mistress, and open the window, throw it down into the yard, and let it lay the foundation of our heap for the fire we mean to make.’

Do they envy man for what God has given of His grace? We have given to Abraham’s people the Book and wisdom, and we have given them a mighty kingdom. And of them are some who believe therein, and of them are some who turn from it, but Hell is flaming enough for them.
Verily, those who disbelieve in our signs, we will broil them with fire; whenever their skins are well done, then we will change them for other skins, that they may taste the torment. Verily, God is glorious and wise.

I hope that it will not be considered terribly Eurocentric if I go with Cervantes' bumbling enforcers over the white-hot holy book, if I prefer the curate-cum-critic:

therefore, taking eight of them together, she [an old woman] threw them all out of the window, and returning the second time, thinking to carry away a great many at once, one of them fell at the barber’s feet, who, desirous to know the title, saw that it was The History of the famous Knight Tirante the White. ‘Good God!’ quoth the curate, with a loud voice, ‘is Tirante the White here? Give me it, gossip; for I make account to find in it a treasure of delight, and a copious mine of pastime.

To the Koran's how-to-treat-your-woman advice:

Men stand superior to women in that God hath preferred some of them over others, and in that they expend of their wealth: and the virtuous women, devoted, careful (in their husbands’) absence, as God has cared for them. But those whose perverseness ye fear, admonish them and remove them into bed-chambers and beat them; but if they submit to you, then do not seek a way against them; verily, God is high and great.

In fact, controlling for the differences in dogma, culture, etc., you might see the two readings as pointing out that the flame of purity inevitably becomes something just a fire you entertain yourself by. People can't live like fanatics forever; they are always going to be tripped up by some romance or other:

‘This book,’ quoth the barber, opening of another, ‘is The Twelve Books of the Fortunes of Love, written by Anthony Lofraso, the Sardinian poet.’ ‘By the holy orders which I have received,’ quoth the curate, ‘since Apollo was Apollo, and the muses muses, and poets poets, was never written so delightful and extravagant a work as this...Give it to me, gossip, for I do prize more the finding of it than I would the gift of a cassock of the best satin of Florence.’

It's a bit of a stretch, but another thing to note in these readings is that the curate is letting himself be subject to a different way of experience -- not only by love poetry, but also by the classical culture Christianity was supposed to supersede; whereas the Koran is trying to get all of experience subject to itself. Most of the reading is actually about property rights:

Men should have a portion of what their parents and kindred leave, and women should have a portion of what their parents and kindred leave, whether it be little or much, a determined portion. And when the next of kin and the orphans and the poor are present at the division, then maintain them out of it, and speak to them a reasonable speech.

Although that paragraph ends, "Verily, those who devour the property of orphans unjustly, only devour into their bellies fire, and they shall broil in flames." Again with the fire!

Mar 8: A bad one

From Don Quixote today, and all the "dosts" of the translation make your head spin. It's one of those passages where you read a paragraph without having any idea what they mean, hoping that, in the next couple of paragraphs, someone will refer to something that's happened, and, somehow, you can triangulate your way to understanding. That's what this passage is like.

Here's what the Daily Reading Guide promises:

8 Dangerous Experiment with a Wife
Anselmo and Lothario were close friends. Anselmo, anxious to learn if his wife were perfect, as he believed her to be, makes an unusual proposal to his old friend.

Spicy! Here's what it's like in practice:

And presupposing that nothing which thou shalt say to me shall be available to hinder my design, or dissuade me from putting my purpose in execution, I would have thyself, dear friend Lothario, to provide thee to be the instrument that shall labour this work of my liking, and I will give thee opportunity enough to perform the same, without omitting anything that may further thee in the solicitation of an honest, noble, wary, retired, and passionless woman.

Not spicy! It's like being entombed in Cream of Wheat.


And what's worse, the whole reading is just setup. It takes pages and pages of Cream of Wheat to accomplish this: Anselmo bitches about his happiness, because how does he know his wife really loves him, or is it she's just too sheltered and doesn't know any better? So you, Lothario, my best friend, see if you can seduce her. Lothario, sensibly, says that this is stupid. That's it. It takes nine pages. I have a feeling it won't turn out well, but as these characters take the description "all talk" to the 110% logical extreme I don't really care.

Jan 31: A short passage from Don Quixote

I hope you’re ready to rollick, because my favorite copywriters promise that “Worlds of fun and killing satire are in this absorbing story of Cervantes.”

I know, because I’ve read about Don Quixote (without actually reading Don Quixote), that this is a very important book in our Western Literary Tradition, so I’m pleased to find that it gets a volume all to itself. I have to say that the HC also does a pretty good job of including foreigners – I realize that’s part of the cachet (so is saying “cachet”), though; and besides, in 1910 I’m not sure what Americans they would have included. I have a feeling that the 19th century people we like (Dickinson, Twain, Whitman) would have been on their list.

Okay, volume 14, chapter VIII…it’s the windmills! Now that’s a classic. And Cervantes dives right in – the windmills are the first thing mentioned.

It’s an extremely brief encounter – just one sentence long:

And, after saying this, and commending himself most devoutly to his Lady Dulcinea, desiring her to succor him in that trance, covering himself well with his buckler, and setting his lance on his rest, he spurred on Rozinante, and encountered with the first mill that was before him, and, striking his lance into the sail, the wind swung it about with such fury, that it broke his lance into shivers, carrying him and his horse after it, and finally tumbled him a good way off from it on the field in evil plight.

And it’s all stage direction. It’s remarkable. It’s like when you go to a movie set for the first time and you realize how small it is. Helpfully, however, my favorite copywriters haven’t built up this one incident, and Don Quixote quickly moves on.

I really don’t have much to say just because this work is so famous and it’s so direct. It’s comedy – these characters always work. A tall thin guy and a short fat guy – what more do you need? I’m surprised it’s not on a cave painting. Simplicity is one of the great satisfactions of comedy (I think it’s why some comedians get tired of it).

The only other thing I’ll note in passing is that the Don and Sancho fulfill one of my requirements for comic characters, which is that they think well of themselves. I once worked for a guy who’d say, “Depressed people aren’t funny,” and the more characters think well of themselves the easier it is for us to look down on them. (There are exceptions, of course.)