Woo hoo! :D
My story "Chick Food" is in the Fall 2009 issue of A Thousand Faces: The Quarterly Journal of Superhuman Fiction! The cover looks awesome!
http://www.thousand-faces.com/
Yay! ^__^
I can't wait till my contributor copies arrive in the mail. x3
Monday, November 30, 2009
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Realism, Magical Realism, and Others
I've been thinking about the discussion in class regarding Satanic verses, specifically, whether it's realism or magical realism.
It kind of bugged me that we were discussing it as if "realism" and "magical realism" were the only options. I wanted to say more because I've made a point of studying different genre, subgenres, and groupings of fiction, and I'm really interested in the interplay between them. I like to debate what defines a genre (here I'm using "genre" to mean "type of fiction/thematic category", not "cliched fiction") and ways to blend genres, extend their limits, or confound expectations.
I tend to go on a bit in class, but heck, this is a blog, so I can ramble to my heart's content.
I feel that magical realism has frequently been used to mean "non-realistic fiction in a contemporary setting", especially when considering literary fiction. I feel that this strays from the very specific meaning coined by Marquez, fiction that strives for realism while acknowledging the subjective multiplicity of reality. I think a pristine example of magical realism would be "Calvin and Hobbes." The creator explained that Hobbes isn't a doll that comes to life only when Calvin's around, nor is he a figment of Calvin's imagination. In Calvin's perception of reality, Hobbes is an anthropomorphic tiger. In the perceived reality of his parents, Hobbes is a stuffed toy. Each person's perspective makes perfect sense to them, and they can't understand why the other party doesn't see it that way.
When strange things happen in magical realism, the narrator treats them as mundane events. This seems to fit with Gibreel's face disappearing from all images after he vanished and with pictures in the room crawling away from the exile's glare, but the degree of wonderment and acknowledgement of disbelieve the narrator shows at, for example, the mid-air metamorphosis, flying by flapping arms, etc. goes beyond magical realism.
Irrealism is a rare and confusing subgenre. Outside of scattered individual works, such as a few stories by Kafka, I've only encountered it in a single literary magazine, and that particular zine recently died. Irrealism is a world where the reality is being constantly undermined. If a carpet flies, there will be no other flying carpets, and it cannot be expected to fly again. The protagonist may order coffee and get a pot of ink, meeting all efforts to correct it with angry silence from the cafe staff. He might get a paper pad instead of a sandwich, or he might get the sandwich he ordered, or he might get the top of his head unscrewed. The only constant is inconstancy.
There may be some stretches where this seems to be the case, but then we have too many constants. An irrealist writer would not tolerate Gibreel maintaining his angel experiences for so many repeated episodes.
Fantasy is set in a world with different laws of possibility than our own. It does not have to have a faux-medieval setting with prophecies, magic swords, a destined hero, good elves and evil dragons, any more than contemporary mainstream fiction has to have coming of age, political commentary, and Christ allegories. It's a genre of possibilities, and many subgenres would fall under it, and most of them would protest. The key note is that this constructed world, the subcreation, whether it's unrecognizable or one superficially identical to our own with supernatural elements hidden from the general populace, has a system of coherent internal logic, consistency in what can and can't happen. Rushdie's consistency with the appearances of Gibreel's lover, with the halo, with the transmutation by definition of immigrants into human-animal hybrids, suggests a system of internal logic, but then why are the protagonists the only ones to metamorphose after the fall? The realistic backdrop for the fantastic elements is sometimes impossible to seperate from them.
Scifi focuses on a scientific principle and extrapolating its possibilities. Doesn't the "Lamarck was write" comment push it in this direction, albeit a very soft scifi rather than hard scifi?
Surrealism is a genre that's even harder to pin down. The best I can do is illustrate with a joke.
Q: How many surrealists does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: To get to the other side
Satanic Verses defies classification in so many more ways than the realism-magical realism dichotomy.
I will close with this quote:
"I have been a soreheaded occupant of a file drawer labeled 'science fiction' ever since (publishing 'Player Piano'), and I would like out, particularly since so many serious critijavascript:void(0)cs regularly mistake the drawer for a urinal."
—Kurt Vonnegut
It kind of bugged me that we were discussing it as if "realism" and "magical realism" were the only options. I wanted to say more because I've made a point of studying different genre, subgenres, and groupings of fiction, and I'm really interested in the interplay between them. I like to debate what defines a genre (here I'm using "genre" to mean "type of fiction/thematic category", not "cliched fiction") and ways to blend genres, extend their limits, or confound expectations.
I tend to go on a bit in class, but heck, this is a blog, so I can ramble to my heart's content.
I feel that magical realism has frequently been used to mean "non-realistic fiction in a contemporary setting", especially when considering literary fiction. I feel that this strays from the very specific meaning coined by Marquez, fiction that strives for realism while acknowledging the subjective multiplicity of reality. I think a pristine example of magical realism would be "Calvin and Hobbes." The creator explained that Hobbes isn't a doll that comes to life only when Calvin's around, nor is he a figment of Calvin's imagination. In Calvin's perception of reality, Hobbes is an anthropomorphic tiger. In the perceived reality of his parents, Hobbes is a stuffed toy. Each person's perspective makes perfect sense to them, and they can't understand why the other party doesn't see it that way.
When strange things happen in magical realism, the narrator treats them as mundane events. This seems to fit with Gibreel's face disappearing from all images after he vanished and with pictures in the room crawling away from the exile's glare, but the degree of wonderment and acknowledgement of disbelieve the narrator shows at, for example, the mid-air metamorphosis, flying by flapping arms, etc. goes beyond magical realism.
Irrealism is a rare and confusing subgenre. Outside of scattered individual works, such as a few stories by Kafka, I've only encountered it in a single literary magazine, and that particular zine recently died. Irrealism is a world where the reality is being constantly undermined. If a carpet flies, there will be no other flying carpets, and it cannot be expected to fly again. The protagonist may order coffee and get a pot of ink, meeting all efforts to correct it with angry silence from the cafe staff. He might get a paper pad instead of a sandwich, or he might get the sandwich he ordered, or he might get the top of his head unscrewed. The only constant is inconstancy.
There may be some stretches where this seems to be the case, but then we have too many constants. An irrealist writer would not tolerate Gibreel maintaining his angel experiences for so many repeated episodes.
Fantasy is set in a world with different laws of possibility than our own. It does not have to have a faux-medieval setting with prophecies, magic swords, a destined hero, good elves and evil dragons, any more than contemporary mainstream fiction has to have coming of age, political commentary, and Christ allegories. It's a genre of possibilities, and many subgenres would fall under it, and most of them would protest. The key note is that this constructed world, the subcreation, whether it's unrecognizable or one superficially identical to our own with supernatural elements hidden from the general populace, has a system of coherent internal logic, consistency in what can and can't happen. Rushdie's consistency with the appearances of Gibreel's lover, with the halo, with the transmutation by definition of immigrants into human-animal hybrids, suggests a system of internal logic, but then why are the protagonists the only ones to metamorphose after the fall? The realistic backdrop for the fantastic elements is sometimes impossible to seperate from them.
Scifi focuses on a scientific principle and extrapolating its possibilities. Doesn't the "Lamarck was write" comment push it in this direction, albeit a very soft scifi rather than hard scifi?
Surrealism is a genre that's even harder to pin down. The best I can do is illustrate with a joke.
Q: How many surrealists does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: To get to the other side
Satanic Verses defies classification in so many more ways than the realism-magical realism dichotomy.
I will close with this quote:
"I have been a soreheaded occupant of a file drawer labeled 'science fiction' ever since (publishing 'Player Piano'), and I would like out, particularly since so many serious critijavascript:void(0)cs regularly mistake the drawer for a urinal."
—Kurt Vonnegut
Saturday, November 14, 2009
The Soundtracks of Novels
I dunno if anyone else reads this way, but some stories have a definite soundtrack to me. A good measure of quality is the type of music that plays in my head during a reading, which is odd, since I don't listen to music that much.
Moby Dick, without a doubt, had the most varied soundtrack. Sometimes it was just the soft hissing surf and crying gulls of an Ingmar Bergman film. Other times I had the "whale of a tale" song from the 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea movie stuck in my head. During a few moments that old plot shanty from the host sketch of Mystery Science Theater 3000 Presents: Mighty Jack popped into my head (a nautical-style accordian tune entitled "Slow the Plot Down"). The whole thing burst into full-scale broadway musical during the "Midnight, Forecastle" chapter, complete with a bouncy underbeat and everyone clearing off as the scenery rolls up and curtains close. Whatever professor Robertson says, it seems like a textbook case of Big Lipped Alligator Moment to me.
Frankenstein had an awesome soundtrack. There were some soft, mysterious moments, with a haunting tune, maybe like the Wanderer theme from the new Dr. Who. Further into the story I encountered a lot of the theme music from the "Gargoyles" animated serial, interspersed with Carmina Burana music of the kind used to make trailers seem Epic and Awesome.
The first section of paradise lost we read had a strong backdrop, almost-screen-saver esque, just flickering midnight flames and a low crackling fire noise that was powerfully evocative.
Some books don't quite have a soundtrack though. I didn't get any musical accompaniment to Robinson Crusoe or Gulliver's Travels. "Their Eyes Were Watching God" remains likewise silent except for a few low, isolated, electric guitar chords during the pan-away description of Death's house.
Anyone else have movie-soundtrack experiences with books?
Moby Dick, without a doubt, had the most varied soundtrack. Sometimes it was just the soft hissing surf and crying gulls of an Ingmar Bergman film. Other times I had the "whale of a tale" song from the 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea movie stuck in my head. During a few moments that old plot shanty from the host sketch of Mystery Science Theater 3000 Presents: Mighty Jack popped into my head (a nautical-style accordian tune entitled "Slow the Plot Down"). The whole thing burst into full-scale broadway musical during the "Midnight, Forecastle" chapter, complete with a bouncy underbeat and everyone clearing off as the scenery rolls up and curtains close. Whatever professor Robertson says, it seems like a textbook case of Big Lipped Alligator Moment to me.
Frankenstein had an awesome soundtrack. There were some soft, mysterious moments, with a haunting tune, maybe like the Wanderer theme from the new Dr. Who. Further into the story I encountered a lot of the theme music from the "Gargoyles" animated serial, interspersed with Carmina Burana music of the kind used to make trailers seem Epic and Awesome.
The first section of paradise lost we read had a strong backdrop, almost-screen-saver esque, just flickering midnight flames and a low crackling fire noise that was powerfully evocative.
Some books don't quite have a soundtrack though. I didn't get any musical accompaniment to Robinson Crusoe or Gulliver's Travels. "Their Eyes Were Watching God" remains likewise silent except for a few low, isolated, electric guitar chords during the pan-away description of Death's house.
Anyone else have movie-soundtrack experiences with books?
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Final Moby Dick Abridged
Chapter 41
Serious
The methodical mad maiden Ahab sought to slay the largest vampire in the sea. Her crewmen were Rozencrantz and Guildenstern.
Satirical
Moby’s here, he’s there, he’s everywhere! Beware! Beware! Beware! Hefful-Ahab and White Woozles!
Chapter 55 “Of the Monstrous Pictures of Whales”
Serious
From eldest pagan temples to the hallowed learning of modern naturalists, the whale remains impossible to picture.
Satiric
Everyone gets whales drawn all wrong because they don’t see em live swimming, but I won’t belabor the point.
Chapter 61 “Stubb kills a Whale”
Serious
A great beast is spotted, and with much pain and panic, it is brought to an end in much pain and panic.
Satiric
Stubb killed a whale. Take my word for it. Also I dozed off at watch.
Chapter 64 “Stubb’s Supper”
Serious
While hoary Ahab brooded darkly upon his thwarted aims, the Stubb and sharks reveled in their good fortune.
Satiric
In which a delicacy is prepared according such hygienic standards that the diner is prompted to enter theological disputations with the cook
Chapter 66 “The Shark Massacre”
Serious
So filled with frenzy and bold in bloodlust were the sharks that no steel stops their ferocious feasting with certainty.
Satiric
In which a pest control problem is seen too, and the educated savage displays his knowledge of civilized values.
Chapter 69 “The Funeral”
Serious
The carcass is mourned by scavengers of water and air. “Tradition” is a fancy word for fear of vast dead things.
Satiric
There’s a big dead whale floating around with stuff on it. Eeeew!
Chapter 70 “The Sphynx”
Serious
This cold dead whale has seen wisdom old and terrible beneath the wine-dark sea. Not so, for me.
Satiric
Prophetic portents and purple prose are a great way to get ahead in the novel-writing profession.
Chapter 71 “The Jeroboam’s story”
Serious
The foaming plague angel Gabriel had more in common with Azreal, yet he and Ahab share the same theology.
Satiric
In which an inspirational leader triumphs by the power of faith against an embittered tyrant, and a much-awaited letter is received.
Chapter 72 “The Monkey Rope
Serious
Dangling from an umbilicus, Queequeg was in a sour spot. Stubb’s gritty charity then spoiled my symbolism.
Satiric
In which the narrator checks out Queequeg’s shapely thighs while yanking his string and Stubb attempts to get him drunk.
Chapter 73 “Stubb and Flask kill a Right Whale; and Then Have a Talk over Him”
Serious
To supplicate the god-fearing, the two men killed an extra whale, lashed it to the boat, and called it open debate.
Satiric
Stubb lectured “This here whale is a magic talisman, and that old guy’s the devil, and god’s a guvna.” Flask asked “What are you smoking?”
Serious
The methodical mad maiden Ahab sought to slay the largest vampire in the sea. Her crewmen were Rozencrantz and Guildenstern.
Satirical
Moby’s here, he’s there, he’s everywhere! Beware! Beware! Beware! Hefful-Ahab and White Woozles!
Chapter 55 “Of the Monstrous Pictures of Whales”
Serious
From eldest pagan temples to the hallowed learning of modern naturalists, the whale remains impossible to picture.
Satiric
Everyone gets whales drawn all wrong because they don’t see em live swimming, but I won’t belabor the point.
Chapter 61 “Stubb kills a Whale”
Serious
A great beast is spotted, and with much pain and panic, it is brought to an end in much pain and panic.
Satiric
Stubb killed a whale. Take my word for it. Also I dozed off at watch.
Chapter 64 “Stubb’s Supper”
Serious
While hoary Ahab brooded darkly upon his thwarted aims, the Stubb and sharks reveled in their good fortune.
Satiric
In which a delicacy is prepared according such hygienic standards that the diner is prompted to enter theological disputations with the cook
Chapter 66 “The Shark Massacre”
Serious
So filled with frenzy and bold in bloodlust were the sharks that no steel stops their ferocious feasting with certainty.
Satiric
In which a pest control problem is seen too, and the educated savage displays his knowledge of civilized values.
Chapter 69 “The Funeral”
Serious
The carcass is mourned by scavengers of water and air. “Tradition” is a fancy word for fear of vast dead things.
Satiric
There’s a big dead whale floating around with stuff on it. Eeeew!
Chapter 70 “The Sphynx”
Serious
This cold dead whale has seen wisdom old and terrible beneath the wine-dark sea. Not so, for me.
Satiric
Prophetic portents and purple prose are a great way to get ahead in the novel-writing profession.
Chapter 71 “The Jeroboam’s story”
Serious
The foaming plague angel Gabriel had more in common with Azreal, yet he and Ahab share the same theology.
Satiric
In which an inspirational leader triumphs by the power of faith against an embittered tyrant, and a much-awaited letter is received.
Chapter 72 “The Monkey Rope
Serious
Dangling from an umbilicus, Queequeg was in a sour spot. Stubb’s gritty charity then spoiled my symbolism.
Satiric
In which the narrator checks out Queequeg’s shapely thighs while yanking his string and Stubb attempts to get him drunk.
Chapter 73 “Stubb and Flask kill a Right Whale; and Then Have a Talk over Him”
Serious
To supplicate the god-fearing, the two men killed an extra whale, lashed it to the boat, and called it open debate.
Satiric
Stubb lectured “This here whale is a magic talisman, and that old guy’s the devil, and god’s a guvna.” Flask asked “What are you smoking?”
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Second Segment
PT2
Chapter 22 “Merry Christmas”
Serious
We set sail on the wine-dark sea. For pudding I had iced ice, my stocking stuffer was a kick in the arse. Peleg cried.
Satiric
Bildad parted tearfully with these words. “By all means, praise god almighty, and be sure to wear clean underpants!”
Chapter 23 “The Lee Shore”
Serious
“Here does not lie Bulkington,” was engraved upon the paradoxical safe-peril, the death-life of sea-land. The wind blew too stiff.
Satiric
Alas, poor Bulkington, I knew him well. A character of infinite depth and detail, he suffered death by narrative inconvenience.
Chapter 24 “The Advocate”
Serious
I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a harpoon thrust into the living eye of a colossal sperm whale.
Satiric
Whaling is awesome, and I am a very reliable narrator! Just ask Robinson Gulliver! Get that camera out of my face! *signal lost*
Chapter 25 “Postscript”
Serious
Whale oil is put on otherwise silly kings and queens, like salad dressing or hair cream.
Satiric
Whale oil is put on otherwise silly kings and queens, like salad dressing or hair cream.
Chapter 26 “Knights and Squires”
Serious
“What a piece of work is man.” The meanest sailor I do imbue with the greatness and infamy of Kings.
Satiric
Starbuck was courageous but cautious. See? I can right awesome and impressive non-royal characters! Albion, kiss my blowhole.
Chapter 27 “Knights and Squires”
Serious
Behold this motley crew of stalwart men. They are fierce as any knights of yore, different as night and day, and all under American command.
Satiric
Here’s a great big load of cool characters with informed abilities. This way you’ll care about them when somebody gets killed off.
Chapter 28 “Ahab”
Serious
Ahab was scarred and unsmiling as a statue. Like his kindred, the lightning-cleft tree and the figure of bronze, he did not speak or move.
Satiric
The star character finally appears and does…nothing. But he’s Ahab, and you know he’s cool. Just you wait and see.
Chapter 29 “Enter Ahab, to him, Stubb”
Serious
So all the ship did sail through summer, and Ahab warmed till sleepless. By his heated words, Stubb was badly scalded.
Satiric
Oh how magically pretty the tropics are. The sea sparkles like a Cullen, fit to sooth the angstiest soul! Ahab-STFU furfag! Stub-wtf?! ._.
Chapter 30 The Pipe
Serious
Peg-legged Odin sits uncomfortably. “I’m too tense ter wait fer Ragnerack,” he snarls, and flings his spear into Midgard.
Satirical
“Grrr! I’m too crotchety to smoke,” monologued Ahab, the sea sultan, the president of planks, the constitutional monarch of mariners.
Chapter 31 “Queen Mab”
Serious
So one shark insult banged about in Stubb’s skull all night, that he took heed of white whale warning come the morning.
Satiric
“Flask, don’t mess with Ahab or you’ll spend the night awash in deconstructionist symbolism.” Ahab-Plot point ahead!
Chapter 33 “The Specksynder”
Serious
How fierce and full of diabolic politick is Ahab, but in wind-robed majesty he pays lipservice to the chief harpooner.
Satiric
This seems as good a place as any to set down another unnecessary and self-indulgent tangent.
Chapter 34 “The Cabin-Tale”
Serious
While the harpooners terrified the waiter by rough words and fearsome gestures, captain Ahab kept a tighter rein of terror by loud silence.
Satiric
Wherein the protagonist conducts in-depth examination the sociological and intercultural causes of awkward lunch breaks.
Chapter 36 “The Quarter-Deck”
Serious
“Stay the course, er this mission is accomplished” the stark fanatic cried. A wave of exaltation splashed Starbuck.
Satiric
“Arrr, I be spouting a morally ambivalent philosophy while encouraging these fools to join me. Hark at me fluid symbolism!”
Chapter 37 “Sunset”
Serious
These sailors are enflamed by my passions. The damp sun-stag calls me a mooncalf. My pale adversary flies, and so the fire freezes me.
Satiric
Our hero recounts Ahab sitting alone, scoffing at the charge of madness while warn the whale that he is a choo-choo of vengeance.
Chapter 38 “Dusk”
Serious
Oh dear poor me. The captain’s become a Fascist angel, the crew follow him blindly like pagan apostles. There is fear.
Satirical
Oh blimey oh blimey the captain is cracked! The men have gone round the bend! This fear I feel must be outside, to whet my frontmost end.
Chapter 39 “First Night-Watch”
Serious
Here’s some stubby wisdom for Starbuck, says I, “eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow ye die.”
Satiric
Ha! Ha ha ha-ack, eeehaack, *turns, expectorates phlegm-ridden gob at audience*. Blimey, this is getting wyrd. Sod it all.
Chapter 40 Midnight/Forcastle
Serious
*All enter, singing* Three cheers for captain Ahab, today to do or die! The sorcerer shouted, “y’all are doomed, says I.”
Satiric
The cast of broad national stereotypes swung on stage, but they crashed into the cast of Treasure Island the musical and sank.
Chapter 22 “Merry Christmas”
Serious
We set sail on the wine-dark sea. For pudding I had iced ice, my stocking stuffer was a kick in the arse. Peleg cried.
Satiric
Bildad parted tearfully with these words. “By all means, praise god almighty, and be sure to wear clean underpants!”
Chapter 23 “The Lee Shore”
Serious
“Here does not lie Bulkington,” was engraved upon the paradoxical safe-peril, the death-life of sea-land. The wind blew too stiff.
Satiric
Alas, poor Bulkington, I knew him well. A character of infinite depth and detail, he suffered death by narrative inconvenience.
Chapter 24 “The Advocate”
Serious
I think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as a harpoon thrust into the living eye of a colossal sperm whale.
Satiric
Whaling is awesome, and I am a very reliable narrator! Just ask Robinson Gulliver! Get that camera out of my face! *signal lost*
Chapter 25 “Postscript”
Serious
Whale oil is put on otherwise silly kings and queens, like salad dressing or hair cream.
Satiric
Whale oil is put on otherwise silly kings and queens, like salad dressing or hair cream.
Chapter 26 “Knights and Squires”
Serious
“What a piece of work is man.” The meanest sailor I do imbue with the greatness and infamy of Kings.
Satiric
Starbuck was courageous but cautious. See? I can right awesome and impressive non-royal characters! Albion, kiss my blowhole.
Chapter 27 “Knights and Squires”
Serious
Behold this motley crew of stalwart men. They are fierce as any knights of yore, different as night and day, and all under American command.
Satiric
Here’s a great big load of cool characters with informed abilities. This way you’ll care about them when somebody gets killed off.
Chapter 28 “Ahab”
Serious
Ahab was scarred and unsmiling as a statue. Like his kindred, the lightning-cleft tree and the figure of bronze, he did not speak or move.
Satiric
The star character finally appears and does…nothing. But he’s Ahab, and you know he’s cool. Just you wait and see.
Chapter 29 “Enter Ahab, to him, Stubb”
Serious
So all the ship did sail through summer, and Ahab warmed till sleepless. By his heated words, Stubb was badly scalded.
Satiric
Oh how magically pretty the tropics are. The sea sparkles like a Cullen, fit to sooth the angstiest soul! Ahab-STFU furfag! Stub-wtf?! ._.
Chapter 30 The Pipe
Serious
Peg-legged Odin sits uncomfortably. “I’m too tense ter wait fer Ragnerack,” he snarls, and flings his spear into Midgard.
Satirical
“Grrr! I’m too crotchety to smoke,” monologued Ahab, the sea sultan, the president of planks, the constitutional monarch of mariners.
Chapter 31 “Queen Mab”
Serious
So one shark insult banged about in Stubb’s skull all night, that he took heed of white whale warning come the morning.
Satiric
“Flask, don’t mess with Ahab or you’ll spend the night awash in deconstructionist symbolism.” Ahab-Plot point ahead!
Chapter 33 “The Specksynder”
Serious
How fierce and full of diabolic politick is Ahab, but in wind-robed majesty he pays lipservice to the chief harpooner.
Satiric
This seems as good a place as any to set down another unnecessary and self-indulgent tangent.
Chapter 34 “The Cabin-Tale”
Serious
While the harpooners terrified the waiter by rough words and fearsome gestures, captain Ahab kept a tighter rein of terror by loud silence.
Satiric
Wherein the protagonist conducts in-depth examination the sociological and intercultural causes of awkward lunch breaks.
Chapter 36 “The Quarter-Deck”
Serious
“Stay the course, er this mission is accomplished” the stark fanatic cried. A wave of exaltation splashed Starbuck.
Satiric
“Arrr, I be spouting a morally ambivalent philosophy while encouraging these fools to join me. Hark at me fluid symbolism!”
Chapter 37 “Sunset”
Serious
These sailors are enflamed by my passions. The damp sun-stag calls me a mooncalf. My pale adversary flies, and so the fire freezes me.
Satiric
Our hero recounts Ahab sitting alone, scoffing at the charge of madness while warn the whale that he is a choo-choo of vengeance.
Chapter 38 “Dusk”
Serious
Oh dear poor me. The captain’s become a Fascist angel, the crew follow him blindly like pagan apostles. There is fear.
Satirical
Oh blimey oh blimey the captain is cracked! The men have gone round the bend! This fear I feel must be outside, to whet my frontmost end.
Chapter 39 “First Night-Watch”
Serious
Here’s some stubby wisdom for Starbuck, says I, “eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow ye die.”
Satiric
Ha! Ha ha ha-ack, eeehaack, *turns, expectorates phlegm-ridden gob at audience*. Blimey, this is getting wyrd. Sod it all.
Chapter 40 Midnight/Forcastle
Serious
*All enter, singing* Three cheers for captain Ahab, today to do or die! The sorcerer shouted, “y’all are doomed, says I.”
Satiric
The cast of broad national stereotypes swung on stage, but they crashed into the cast of Treasure Island the musical and sank.
Friday, October 23, 2009
The Complete Moby Dick, Abridged, pt1
The Complete Moby Dick (Abridged) Chapters 1-21.
Chapter 1 “Loomings”
Serious
Ishmael always goes to the sea when he is troubled. People everywhere are naturally drawn to the sea. This will be his first time signing on a whaling vessel.
Satiric
Call me Ishmael. I like to see the sea when I’m mentally out to sea. Everyone likes to see the sea, don’t you see? Whales lol.
Chapter 2 “The carpetbag”
Serious
I wandered dark and dreary streets. Each inn was too luxurious for my meager means, but I found The Spouter delightfully dismal.
Satiric
I need a crappy place to crash, but these places are fun and the Super 8 franchise hasn’t been invented yet. *enters Spouter in humming “Baby it’s Cold Outside”*
Chapter 3 “The Spouter Inn”
Serious
The nobby savage Queequeg and I gave each other quite a fright this night. I had been misinformed, but often strange bedfellows sleep soundly.
Satiric
Yes, but is it art? I meet the savage Queequeg…in bed! Me and Queequeg-OMG! WFT?! ROTFL! *slashfic vibes*
Chapter 4 “The Counterpane
Serious
It was a confused patchwork of a morning, but my companion Queequeg awkwardly assumed the trappings of western civilization.
Satiric
Wherein the hero considesr morning multiculturalism and has difficulty getting out of bed.
Chapter 5 “Breakfast”
Serious
The table was silent and uneasy as a sixth grade dance class. Queequeg, with his harpoon fork and rare meat, was the only man in his rightful place.
Satiric
Wherein our narrator politely refrains from discussing Queequeg’s peculiar habits of eating raw meat, skipping coffee, and being very foreign.
Chapter 6 “The Street”
Serious
From Bombay to New Bedford, the uncommon is commonplace at seaport, though exotic characters still shock the locals. I love the novelty of autumn.
Satiric
People from other places freak people out, and I like fall leaves and bright candles. I like them a lot. They are very very pretty.
Chapter 7 “The Chapel”
Serious
The closure to grief was elusive for all those whose dead was marked by a nameless patch of churning waves. Form was shadow, and I of shadows formed.
Satirical:
The narrator meditates upon distress caused by the insufficient buoyancy of tombstones, with Guest Appearance by Plato!
Chapter 8 “The Pulpit”
Serious
Our church prepared to lift anchor as the captain ascended.
Satirical:
In which the narrator questions the motives of a flush-faced dubious character coming in out of the rain.
Chapter 9 “The Sermon”
Serious
The captain told us when a panicked man was swallowed by the maw of retribution, to agree it was deserved was his best choice.
Satirical
A man of the cloth advises “Like Jonah’s awkward position in the whale, this too shall pass.”
Chapter 10 “A Bosom Friend”
Serious
This dear pagan saved me from the idolatry of superstitious Christian practices. His story is one worth hearing.
Satirical
In which the narrator studies an exotic beauty closely. The two are found in bed enjoying a smoke after satisfying intercourse.
Chapter 11 “Nightgown”
Serious
On a cold windy night, we snuggled close. Lords of London and local landowners lack the comfort of my little smoke.
Satirical
The narrator is prevented from getting a good night’s sleep by the need to set stage for backstory/exposition.
Chapter 12 “Biographical”
Serious
Call me Queequeg. After years of sailing east by northwest, he concluded, wherever you go, there you are.
Satiric
Wherein a young man ventures the world to seek fortune, learns to tell temperature from virtue, and eschews his native cuisine.
Chapter 13 “Wheelbarrow”
“Civilized men wear shirts, degenerate savages go skins,” insisted a friend, despite the jeers of his poolside peers. Do what you must.
Satiric
Wherein racial tensions and freedom of speech lead to mutual bonding through public bathing and healthy exercise.
Chapter 15 “Chowder”
Serious
I found the chowder lived up to its astounding reputation, but the menu was limited and service is lousy. Three and a half stars.
Satiric
Common hussy tries to part Queequeg from his valuables; Ishmael deluges the reader in some cod-awful puns.
Chapter 16 “The Ship”
Serious
I walked the boards as advised by my partner’s horoscope. Things boded, and the cop brothers Good and Bad got me below min. wage.
Satiric
The protagonist carries out a holy quest; providence leads him to three noble vessels, the “Shitte,” The “Yore,” and the “Scrood”.
Chapter 17 “The Ramadan”
Serious
Dear Rabbi Weinstein was unreasonably picky at my Friday Night BBQ, just like Father Murphy. Perfect pork chops left untouched.
Satiric
Protagonist has lively discussion while Queequeg listens. Close friends disagree about popular fad diets.
Chapter 18 “His Mark”
Serious
Received mixed reception from employers. I had to stretch the truth to pull one over Bildad. Life was visible btw jaws of death. Who’s Ahab?
Satiric
Wherein traditionalists oppose affirmative action, Queequeg. Peleg explains the inverse relationship of humidity and piety.
Chapter 19 “The Prophet”
Serious
The terror alert was code orange, but, seeing as no useful information was provided, I paid it no heed.
Satiric
All foreshadowing and no detail makes Elijah a dull prophet. All foreshadowing and no detail makes Elijah a dull prophet. All foreshadowing-
Chapter 20 “All Astir”
They packed chicken, corn, green peppers, chile and (the waiting is the worst part. Rumor suggests Ahab is a short tall man) onions.
Satiric
Beleg and Pildad packed a lot of stuff, but it would be tedious and dull to list all the supplies they got. Ahab’s still late.
Chapter 21- Going Aboard
Serious
Queequeg and I received further vague and ominous warnings from Elijah, but the enigmatic and multifarious Ahab remains hidden from sight.
Satiric
Elijah-I can has lots of vague forshadowing? Ahab am crazy. Me and Queequeg-pics or it didn’t happen.
Chapter 1 “Loomings”
Serious
Ishmael always goes to the sea when he is troubled. People everywhere are naturally drawn to the sea. This will be his first time signing on a whaling vessel.
Satiric
Call me Ishmael. I like to see the sea when I’m mentally out to sea. Everyone likes to see the sea, don’t you see? Whales lol.
Chapter 2 “The carpetbag”
Serious
I wandered dark and dreary streets. Each inn was too luxurious for my meager means, but I found The Spouter delightfully dismal.
Satiric
I need a crappy place to crash, but these places are fun and the Super 8 franchise hasn’t been invented yet. *enters Spouter in humming “Baby it’s Cold Outside”*
Chapter 3 “The Spouter Inn”
Serious
The nobby savage Queequeg and I gave each other quite a fright this night. I had been misinformed, but often strange bedfellows sleep soundly.
Satiric
Yes, but is it art? I meet the savage Queequeg…in bed! Me and Queequeg-OMG! WFT?! ROTFL! *slashfic vibes*
Chapter 4 “The Counterpane
Serious
It was a confused patchwork of a morning, but my companion Queequeg awkwardly assumed the trappings of western civilization.
Satiric
Wherein the hero considesr morning multiculturalism and has difficulty getting out of bed.
Chapter 5 “Breakfast”
Serious
The table was silent and uneasy as a sixth grade dance class. Queequeg, with his harpoon fork and rare meat, was the only man in his rightful place.
Satiric
Wherein our narrator politely refrains from discussing Queequeg’s peculiar habits of eating raw meat, skipping coffee, and being very foreign.
Chapter 6 “The Street”
Serious
From Bombay to New Bedford, the uncommon is commonplace at seaport, though exotic characters still shock the locals. I love the novelty of autumn.
Satiric
People from other places freak people out, and I like fall leaves and bright candles. I like them a lot. They are very very pretty.
Chapter 7 “The Chapel”
Serious
The closure to grief was elusive for all those whose dead was marked by a nameless patch of churning waves. Form was shadow, and I of shadows formed.
Satirical:
The narrator meditates upon distress caused by the insufficient buoyancy of tombstones, with Guest Appearance by Plato!
Chapter 8 “The Pulpit”
Serious
Our church prepared to lift anchor as the captain ascended.
Satirical:
In which the narrator questions the motives of a flush-faced dubious character coming in out of the rain.
Chapter 9 “The Sermon”
Serious
The captain told us when a panicked man was swallowed by the maw of retribution, to agree it was deserved was his best choice.
Satirical
A man of the cloth advises “Like Jonah’s awkward position in the whale, this too shall pass.”
Chapter 10 “A Bosom Friend”
Serious
This dear pagan saved me from the idolatry of superstitious Christian practices. His story is one worth hearing.
Satirical
In which the narrator studies an exotic beauty closely. The two are found in bed enjoying a smoke after satisfying intercourse.
Chapter 11 “Nightgown”
Serious
On a cold windy night, we snuggled close. Lords of London and local landowners lack the comfort of my little smoke.
Satirical
The narrator is prevented from getting a good night’s sleep by the need to set stage for backstory/exposition.
Chapter 12 “Biographical”
Serious
Call me Queequeg. After years of sailing east by northwest, he concluded, wherever you go, there you are.
Satiric
Wherein a young man ventures the world to seek fortune, learns to tell temperature from virtue, and eschews his native cuisine.
Chapter 13 “Wheelbarrow”
“Civilized men wear shirts, degenerate savages go skins,” insisted a friend, despite the jeers of his poolside peers. Do what you must.
Satiric
Wherein racial tensions and freedom of speech lead to mutual bonding through public bathing and healthy exercise.
Chapter 15 “Chowder”
Serious
I found the chowder lived up to its astounding reputation, but the menu was limited and service is lousy. Three and a half stars.
Satiric
Common hussy tries to part Queequeg from his valuables; Ishmael deluges the reader in some cod-awful puns.
Chapter 16 “The Ship”
Serious
I walked the boards as advised by my partner’s horoscope. Things boded, and the cop brothers Good and Bad got me below min. wage.
Satiric
The protagonist carries out a holy quest; providence leads him to three noble vessels, the “Shitte,” The “Yore,” and the “Scrood”.
Chapter 17 “The Ramadan”
Serious
Dear Rabbi Weinstein was unreasonably picky at my Friday Night BBQ, just like Father Murphy. Perfect pork chops left untouched.
Satiric
Protagonist has lively discussion while Queequeg listens. Close friends disagree about popular fad diets.
Chapter 18 “His Mark”
Serious
Received mixed reception from employers. I had to stretch the truth to pull one over Bildad. Life was visible btw jaws of death. Who’s Ahab?
Satiric
Wherein traditionalists oppose affirmative action, Queequeg. Peleg explains the inverse relationship of humidity and piety.
Chapter 19 “The Prophet”
Serious
The terror alert was code orange, but, seeing as no useful information was provided, I paid it no heed.
Satiric
All foreshadowing and no detail makes Elijah a dull prophet. All foreshadowing and no detail makes Elijah a dull prophet. All foreshadowing-
Chapter 20 “All Astir”
They packed chicken, corn, green peppers, chile and (the waiting is the worst part. Rumor suggests Ahab is a short tall man) onions.
Satiric
Beleg and Pildad packed a lot of stuff, but it would be tedious and dull to list all the supplies they got. Ahab’s still late.
Chapter 21- Going Aboard
Serious
Queequeg and I received further vague and ominous warnings from Elijah, but the enigmatic and multifarious Ahab remains hidden from sight.
Satiric
Elijah-I can has lots of vague forshadowing? Ahab am crazy. Me and Queequeg-pics or it didn’t happen.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Futre Footnotes Post
Lizzy Viscera and the Quest for the Perfect
By Spencer Koelle
I
Lizzy Viscera, necromancer, master of life and death, zipped up her Lisa Frank[1] backpack. This was a subtle way of reminding Professor Turnipseed that class had ended four minutes ago.
The Professor was impassive. Every second was another second too much. He ignored the raised hands, pointed glances at the clock, and shifting book bags.
Turnipseed wound up the last pompous tangent. He turned to the clock, feigned innocent surprise, and dismissed the class. He was lucky not to be trampled.
Lizzy Viscera burst into the dining hall as if all the Legions of Hell, the Celtic Wild Hunt, and the NRA[2] were after her. She waved to friends but did not tarry in her beeline for the deli counter. She had to make up those lost minutes.
The lectured tyranny of Professor Turnipseed lay behind her, and the arduous death-march[3] of Intro Statistics loomed ahead. Lunch hour was her “me time”.
Lizzy drew notice. She wasn’t inherently extraordinary. She was blond-haired but brown-eyed. She was filled out in all the right places and the wrong places as well. [4]
Maybe it was her personal style that attracted attention. Maybe it was the rainbow streaks in her pigtails[5], created by hours of dyeing and drying. Maybe it was the varied neon rainbow of her clothes and accessories.
It might have also been the human skull that bounced along after her. It had a lolling whitish-blue tongue of ectoplasm, the same material that glowed in its eye sockets. The orange collar on its trail of ghostly vapors proclaimed its name to be Yorick[6].
The woman at the deli counter did not pay much attention to Lizzy or anything else. Her sagging face told the world that she was just killing time[7] until time killed her. “What will you be having today?”
Lizzy leaned up against the counter.
“I’d like a regular-size sub sandwich on a toasted sesame roll with mayonnaise, honey mustard, extra-thin salami, iceberg lettuce, provolone cheese, Cooper sharp cheddar, and a little bit of vinegar.”
The grim-faced woman glared as if she’d been asked to hand over her left kidney. Lizzy went to grab the soft drink, side salad, and onion rings that came with a Grab-N-Go Sandwich Combo. She sipped her orange soda and fingered her rainbow bracelet, waiting for her order to come up.
Lizzy Viscera always ordered the same exact sandwich. She looked to breakfast and dinner for variety. She picked sodas and sides on a whim. The sandwich was the perfect center of her day. It made lunch right.
“217[8]! Number 217!”
Lizzy looked at her ticket and bounded up to the counter and snatched the sandwich. She hovered uncomfortably for a few moments. Her hands balanced the awkward load of soda, fries, and entrée as she scanned the crowded tables until she spotted somebody she recognized.
Lizzy bit into the sandwich and nearly choked. Instead of spiced, tangy, salami and zesty-sweet honey mustard, her palate met with greasy, bland turkey and burning, bitter
The blond college student strode back to the deli counter and repeated her order. Her words were articulated with a friendly smile and strained patience. The grim-faced woman showed neither remorse nor recognition. This time Lizzy waited with more impatience and less enthusiasm.
She opened the sandwich the moment it was ready and eyed its contents with dark suspicion. There was salami and honey mustard in it. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything else. No cheese, mayo, or tomato: just meat, mustard, and a damp wheat bun.
Lizzy repeated her requests, but each result was further from her wishes. When the sodden mass of apathy in a hairnet[9] handed her a fish taco, she gave up on the deli counter.
Chapter Discussion Questions:
1. How does the author represent his opinion of firearm legislation? Explain
2. Does your professor ignore students when the class is running late? Why or why not?
3. What statement does this story make about conventional beauty expectations and their effect on women with supernatural powers?
[1] A brand of school supplies decorated with brightly colored scenes of unicorns, rainbows, kittens, etc.
[2] National Rifle Association
[3] A term for forced marches with high mortality rates
[4] Thin but large-breasted women with blond hair and blue eyes were the cultural conception of ideal beauty. The “right places” refers her fat chest, the “wrong places” refers to an equal distribution of fat on the other portions of her body.
[5] Hairstyle of the era associated with innocence and youth
[6] Yorick is the name of a deceased character in the then-famous play “Hamlet”, the skull of which is regarded by the lead character
[7] Waisting time
[8] Possibly an obscure reference to Stephen King’s “The Shining”, wherein room 217 of the hotel was haunted, to foreshadow the coming string of back luck.
[9] Covering worn by workers in the food industry to prevent hair from falling into meals
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Friday's Journal Entries
Here is a list of invented journal entries for the native person dubbed "Friday" by the protagonist in the story "Robinson Crusoe." I found it a particularly difficult mindset to get into, because we get such a slanted, one-dimensional, and inauthentic perspective of the character in the story.
Day when the Golden Planet is equidistant from the seventh sister of the Pilaedes and the yellow star Formalhaut-
I have given much thought to the theology that Robin's son has espoused to me. I find it much easier to take to than the theology thus far presented by other cross-bearing bearded sunburnt men, vis, that we must either accept Jesus Christ, the lord of mercy and justice as our savor, because otherwise his holy servants shall roast us until an enemy might stick an eating utensil in us to see that we are done, and then said servants might allow us to die some times afterwards.
Day upon which the horned Moon crosses paths with the tip of Yog Sothoth's tentacle (that group of stars which it pleases Robin's son to call the Big Dipper)-
I have humored Robin's son in tth interest of keeping peace between us, but why must he cover every bite of food with a same-sized measure of salt? He is not content as long as he can still taste some hint of the natural flavors. He salts even salts turtle meat! I pointed out to him how needless this was, becuase the turtle had lived all its life in salt water, drank of salt water, and had much caked and drying sea salt upon its body, but still he poured salt on it, insisting that "the salt is good, it is very very good." Does he not know how much the eating of salt weakens the heart and dehydrates the body?
Day upon which the star Aldebaran is formost in the horizon, though the great city Carcosa and Lake Hali remain thankfully distant-
I must be sure to spread the Christian theology amongst my neighbors, as it should make a most welcome addition to our spiritual traditions and mesh intriguingly with the existing popular faiths. It seems strange to think that in Robin Son's smog-choked steel dystopia men are captured and war over differences within a single theology. How can aspects of the same faith lead to such strife, when my dear father himself is a buddist zoriastrian shintoist in his secular life, and also a member of the growing triad cult, devoted to Yog-sothoth of repeated infinities, Shub Nigguroth, the black goat of the forest with a thousand young, aspect of all teeming wriggling crawling life, and Azathoth, the blind idiot god that bubbles and blasphemes at the heart of nuclear chaos? This is all with the taken for granted worship of the mountain god you provides us with cultural unity and a shared heritage.
I do worry about my father, with no news as to how the tide of battle over leadership of our proud nation has gone. May the kami of blue trees and our household preserve him, Shub Nigguroth keep him strong, Azathoth ignore him, and the great God of the christians shield him from harm while his soul yet stays in this lifetime.
Day upon which the ribbon of darkness weaves its way from mocking Polaris to Canis, and the blackness in the sky is a window into the lightless parts of another universe (or, as Robin's son insists on calling it, Tuesday)-
I am adjusting to my new clothes. They have almost stopped bringing out rashes, and most of the fleas upon them are sick or dying. I do not begrudge the discomfort, for the tribal honor of Robin's son insists that those who live around him must wear it, and indeed he seemed much unsettled by the natural appearance of other men. Forbidding the appearance of flesh seems a curious taboo, but no doubt some of my norms and traditions seem incomprehensible to him.
They keep the peace between us, as satisfies the life-debt charge which he chooses to interpret as a natural gratitude. I also must say they make me feel safer in a way that is hard to articulate. He commented much on the strength of my arms and the well-developed characteristic of my body, and sometimes he stares at me for what seems like hours, saying nothing. I must make allowances, for he has been utterly alone for the span of a short lifetime, and it must take some adjusting to recover the manners and decorum needed to intercourse with other thinking creatures. I still do not like the way he stares at me much though.
Day when the Golden Planet is equidistant from the seventh sister of the Pilaedes and the yellow star Formalhaut-
I have given much thought to the theology that Robin's son has espoused to me. I find it much easier to take to than the theology thus far presented by other cross-bearing bearded sunburnt men, vis, that we must either accept Jesus Christ, the lord of mercy and justice as our savor, because otherwise his holy servants shall roast us until an enemy might stick an eating utensil in us to see that we are done, and then said servants might allow us to die some times afterwards.
Day upon which the horned Moon crosses paths with the tip of Yog Sothoth's tentacle (that group of stars which it pleases Robin's son to call the Big Dipper)-
I have humored Robin's son in tth interest of keeping peace between us, but why must he cover every bite of food with a same-sized measure of salt? He is not content as long as he can still taste some hint of the natural flavors. He salts even salts turtle meat! I pointed out to him how needless this was, becuase the turtle had lived all its life in salt water, drank of salt water, and had much caked and drying sea salt upon its body, but still he poured salt on it, insisting that "the salt is good, it is very very good." Does he not know how much the eating of salt weakens the heart and dehydrates the body?
Day upon which the star Aldebaran is formost in the horizon, though the great city Carcosa and Lake Hali remain thankfully distant-
I must be sure to spread the Christian theology amongst my neighbors, as it should make a most welcome addition to our spiritual traditions and mesh intriguingly with the existing popular faiths. It seems strange to think that in Robin Son's smog-choked steel dystopia men are captured and war over differences within a single theology. How can aspects of the same faith lead to such strife, when my dear father himself is a buddist zoriastrian shintoist in his secular life, and also a member of the growing triad cult, devoted to Yog-sothoth of repeated infinities, Shub Nigguroth, the black goat of the forest with a thousand young, aspect of all teeming wriggling crawling life, and Azathoth, the blind idiot god that bubbles and blasphemes at the heart of nuclear chaos? This is all with the taken for granted worship of the mountain god you provides us with cultural unity and a shared heritage.
I do worry about my father, with no news as to how the tide of battle over leadership of our proud nation has gone. May the kami of blue trees and our household preserve him, Shub Nigguroth keep him strong, Azathoth ignore him, and the great God of the christians shield him from harm while his soul yet stays in this lifetime.
Day upon which the ribbon of darkness weaves its way from mocking Polaris to Canis, and the blackness in the sky is a window into the lightless parts of another universe (or, as Robin's son insists on calling it, Tuesday)-
I am adjusting to my new clothes. They have almost stopped bringing out rashes, and most of the fleas upon them are sick or dying. I do not begrudge the discomfort, for the tribal honor of Robin's son insists that those who live around him must wear it, and indeed he seemed much unsettled by the natural appearance of other men. Forbidding the appearance of flesh seems a curious taboo, but no doubt some of my norms and traditions seem incomprehensible to him.
They keep the peace between us, as satisfies the life-debt charge which he chooses to interpret as a natural gratitude. I also must say they make me feel safer in a way that is hard to articulate. He commented much on the strength of my arms and the well-developed characteristic of my body, and sometimes he stares at me for what seems like hours, saying nothing. I must make allowances, for he has been utterly alone for the span of a short lifetime, and it must take some adjusting to recover the manners and decorum needed to intercourse with other thinking creatures. I still do not like the way he stares at me much though.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Passage Adaptation
My shiney Bookshelves were lyn'd with Treasures, to whit: empt unlabeled steel Cannes, alas no Gold being in my Posession, Rings, aquireed during my Trip to Mexico; Whitch I may not Have mentioned thus far, Pictures of Joolry, cutt from Magazines, glue'd to a Backing of Cardbored, an Sterling Silver Spoone; an heirloom of My Family; and an fine collection of Silvered Coins, Made whie viewing some Motion Picutre of dubious Value, the name of Whick I cannot, Presently, recall.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Opening
Here is where I'll post the blogs required for my Forms of Writing: the Novel class. I have another journal-thingy elsewhere, but I'd rather keep my academic blog seperate.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)