"a truly voluptuous cushion of reassurance"
posted by Tom Matrullo at Thursday, December 08, 2005
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Where good taste, clear and distinct ideas, and graceful modulations tend to be viewed with lowering suspicion.
6 Comments:
Ouch.
I took a history course at the state university back in 1983 about the history of Latin America. The professor who taught was very big on the idea of the Caudillo. We had to write a term paper on something, and I wrote one about the Sandanistas. This professor gave me a F. This girl I knew in the class said this was very unfair to me just because I didn;t liek the Caudillo. I had to rewrite that paper just to get a D!
I don't read much news anyway, but now because of the internet I read this blog post and I find that a guy who liked the Sandanistas and didn't like the Caudillos gets a Noble prize. What a fucked up world where the one person who gets the prize from a bunch of stuffed shirts only gets to say what nobody else in a public university can say without getting bad grades and almost flunking, even though both of them have never been to the country of Sandinia!
That professor was odd. While he lectured he used to hold his Gold Cross pen between the palms of his hands and slide his hands back and forth, rotating the pen along his palms. We were concerned that it might melt.
-klaus
Jon,
I'd welcome the Pinter - thanks - I know I owe you an email or three.
klaus,
perhaps the prof was simply keeping his slot muscles warm.
I've read the critique of Pinter's speech and find it damned good, Jon. Then again, is structure that important when given such opportunity to address millions on a matter of importance, especially when crippled by illness?
But, yes, the flaw is definitely there.
Knut Hamsun... what a wonderful speech; what warmth, grace, humility. Much of his writing was as lyrical. Hunger, on the other hand, was as harrowing as any book I remember reading when young. Perhaps if we read as much today, or visited the theatre as frequently, Pinter would have had no need...
Ah, hell, there's nothing like nostalgia, eh? Times have changed. We're all hacks now.
As much as I'm tempted to agree with you both (Jon and Mike), I have to say, I think Pinter is enough of a writer to know that he was breaking with the occasion and the logic of his opening. He understood he was forfeiting some degree of persuasive force by not going the Orwell route.
Perhaps it would be worthwhile to wonder why he'd make this "mistake."
Roy of Alicua finds Pinter's argument "beyond the province of literature."
It may be precisely the political, social, and cultural policing of the boundaries of that province that Pinter here wishes to put in question. To do this, he steps outside his theatrical raison d'etat. Is this what's kind of unforgiveable - a matter, not of poetics, but of protocol?
I'm late to the game here guys, but I saw the piece - and haven't read it yet. Glanced at the critique.
It was, to me, a remarkable piece of theatre. A one man show. Perfectly logical, having everything to do with literature and language. What am I missing?
Art - his art, language,- as opening up, a movement toward truth, a noble if unattainable goal.
Politics - branded as The Truth Outright - where language is debased ceaslessly, monotonously.
And the Pinter pauses!
I'm not easily moved, but here was a man speaking on behalf of the unaccounted dead - did you kiss the dead body?
I think ultimately some might be offended because implied in his speech is the notion that democracy - our form of poltics - is a complete sham, not only artless, but truthless. Sacrosanct. Delusional.
We sit in this country (Canada, during an election) and the words being spilt on the charlatans, hucksters and bagmen is sickening.
Pinter sat in that wheelchair - almost voiecless - covered by that blanket, the tapestry of lies.
Art is a cripple. And politics ia the art of barbarians.
Made sense to me.
Death. Bring it on.
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