"It is astounding how little the ordinary person notices butterflies." (Pg. 129)
Okay, so this may not seem like a deep and brilliant line... at first!!
No, but really. When I first read it, for some reason it struck me that this is true about almost everything... what I mean is that the things you find really fascinating, regardless of what they are, are never very interesting to most other people. Has anyone ever not noticed this? I'm not talking about liking the Red Sox or watching some popular TV show.... I'm talking about something that is not embedded in our culture. Like, for instance, I find people's syntax really intriguing (which has a lot to do with why I manipulate mine so oddly on occasion). Weird, right? And that's exactly my point... you are not that interested in syntax, so you notice very little about it. Nabokov recognized that many people do not notice much about butterflies. It's the same thing, and I found it interesting that Nabokov pointed it out.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Truth/Honesty in Nabokov
In the opening pages of his autobiography, Nabokov announces the following:
"What I have not been able to rework through want of specific documentation, I have now preferred to delete for the sake of overall truth." (Pg. 14, second paragraph)
I found this remarkable for two reasons.
1 - This contrasts distinctly with they way that Mary McCarthy openly admitted to including error/fictionalization which she provides commentary on in her italicized responses to chapters.
2 - This implies that we are supposed to believe every word of Nabokov's narrative. Can we possibly do that? What about places that veer into imagination quite obviously? I suppose that we can believe these passages are true at least in that they may really have happened in his mind, but we cannot necessarily believe that they happened in actual reality. This, of course, begs the question of what "actual reality" is and where the line between reality and imagination occurs. Perhaps much of what we remember is imagination, as our imagination colors our every interaction. Or perhaps not. I can't answer that question for all of us.
What I can say is that Nabokov asserts that his entire autobiography is truth. This does not mean, to my mind, that there is no fiction or imagination at work... it simply means he is not creating any of his story out of nothing; everything he writes is based in fact or memory that he believes is fact.
"What I have not been able to rework through want of specific documentation, I have now preferred to delete for the sake of overall truth." (Pg. 14, second paragraph)
I found this remarkable for two reasons.
1 - This contrasts distinctly with they way that Mary McCarthy openly admitted to including error/fictionalization which she provides commentary on in her italicized responses to chapters.
2 - This implies that we are supposed to believe every word of Nabokov's narrative. Can we possibly do that? What about places that veer into imagination quite obviously? I suppose that we can believe these passages are true at least in that they may really have happened in his mind, but we cannot necessarily believe that they happened in actual reality. This, of course, begs the question of what "actual reality" is and where the line between reality and imagination occurs. Perhaps much of what we remember is imagination, as our imagination colors our every interaction. Or perhaps not. I can't answer that question for all of us.
What I can say is that Nabokov asserts that his entire autobiography is truth. This does not mean, to my mind, that there is no fiction or imagination at work... it simply means he is not creating any of his story out of nothing; everything he writes is based in fact or memory that he believes is fact.
APS Posting for Jenna
Chapter 2, pg. # 35)
"The confessions of a synesthete must sound tedious and pretentious to those who are protected from such leakings and drafts by more solid walls than mine are. To my mother, though, this all seemed quiet normal."
"The confessions of a synesthete must sound tedious and pretentious to those who are protected from such leakings and drafts by more solid walls than mine are. To my mother, though, this all seemed quiet normal."
APS Posting for Evan
"I do not agree with the assertion that McCarthy used the italics to simply allow the reader to have further insight. I know that I have commented on this blog saying that allowing the reader to gather more information was the point to the italics, however after further reading I no longer feel that way. Instead I contend that she uses the italics because it is theraputic to her. I say this because throughout the autobiography the italics begin to get smaller and smaller as she gets more used to being completely honest. This is finally confirmed in the last chapter, "Ask Me No Questions," where she doesn't even need italics anymore. She has grown throughout the telling of her tale and she sees no more need for the italics. Although it is easy to see why the italics can be seen as a way of letting the reader in, it is truly a theraputic way for McCarthy to grow."
the correlation of color, letter and sound
i'd just like to go back to what erin wrote on wednesday.....
i really enjoy reading about how certain letters evoked very specific colors in Nabokov's mind. for me, sometimes its the smallest detail about a person, or a unique quality in their perspective that i find most intriguing. i love how he shares this personal quirk with us. in regards to his coloring of letters, i especially found it interesting because i've had many a conversation, about what certain days, months, words and emotions conjure up as far as color goes. but i had never really broken words down so far as to think of how letters might appear individually.
it wasn't until i reread the passage erin had posted, that i started to think Nabokovs' assignments of color were not random. if you read aloud: "alder-leaf f, unripe apple p, pistachio t", for me, there's a very obvious connection between the sounds of the color words, and the sound of the individual letter. in my opinion, Nabokov's pairing of color with letter, might all have a foundation in alliteration.
i really enjoy reading about how certain letters evoked very specific colors in Nabokov's mind. for me, sometimes its the smallest detail about a person, or a unique quality in their perspective that i find most intriguing. i love how he shares this personal quirk with us. in regards to his coloring of letters, i especially found it interesting because i've had many a conversation, about what certain days, months, words and emotions conjure up as far as color goes. but i had never really broken words down so far as to think of how letters might appear individually.
it wasn't until i reread the passage erin had posted, that i started to think Nabokovs' assignments of color were not random. if you read aloud: "alder-leaf f, unripe apple p, pistachio t", for me, there's a very obvious connection between the sounds of the color words, and the sound of the individual letter. in my opinion, Nabokov's pairing of color with letter, might all have a foundation in alliteration.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Nabokov's Image Creativity
"Below, a wide ripple, almost a wave, and something vaguely white attracted my eye. As I came quite close to the lapping water, I saw what it was-an aged swan, a large, uncouth, dodo-like creature, making ridiculous efforts to hoist himself into a moored boat. He could not do it. The heavy, impotent flapping of his wings, their slippery sound against the rocking and plashing boat, the gluey glistening of the dark swell where it caught the light-all seemed for a moment laden with that strange significance which sometimes in dreams is attached to a finger pressed to mute lips and then pointed at something the dreamer has no time to distinguish before waking with a start." (pg. 116)
I've always paid more attention to writers when they create vivid images for the reader to really make the point of what it is they are trying to get across. I think that Nabokov does this throughout his memoir, but so far the image of the swan has been my favorite. I can exactly picture this scene because he lays it all right out on the page, right down to the color and feel of the water. It is because of his ability to take an event that he witnessed fifty years ago and make me, as the reader, see the same thing that I've enjoyed reading his autobiography. It makes the subject matter of his life that much more interesting.
I've always paid more attention to writers when they create vivid images for the reader to really make the point of what it is they are trying to get across. I think that Nabokov does this throughout his memoir, but so far the image of the swan has been my favorite. I can exactly picture this scene because he lays it all right out on the page, right down to the color and feel of the water. It is because of his ability to take an event that he witnessed fifty years ago and make me, as the reader, see the same thing that I've enjoyed reading his autobiography. It makes the subject matter of his life that much more interesting.
Nabokov's Colorful Alphabet
I believe it was Margaret who mentioned Nabokov's correlation between letters and colors in class, but I just wanted to point out the specific passage (Chapter 2, page 34).
"I present a fine case of colored hearing. Perhaps "hearing" is not quite accurate, since the color sensation seems to be produced by the very act of my orally forming a given letter while I imagine its outline. The long a of the English alphabet has for me the tint of weathered wood, but a French a evokes polished ebony."
Nabokov then classifies certain letters into different categories of color. For instance, "In the green group, there are alder-leaf f, the unripe apple of p, and pistachio t. Dull green, combined somehow with violet, is the best I can do for w."
I find it highly entertaining that he imagines letters not only as different colors like green, blue, or purple, but "alder-leaf," "pistachio," and "violet." I also find it entertaining that he seems almost exasperated with the letter w and therefore, the color schemes in which he sees the letter is "the best [he] can do." If he sees letters in different colors then I wonder how he views words, sentences, and entire passages? Either as a resplendent rainbow or a horrible mess, I would think!
"I present a fine case of colored hearing. Perhaps "hearing" is not quite accurate, since the color sensation seems to be produced by the very act of my orally forming a given letter while I imagine its outline. The long a of the English alphabet has for me the tint of weathered wood, but a French a evokes polished ebony."
Nabokov then classifies certain letters into different categories of color. For instance, "In the green group, there are alder-leaf f, the unripe apple of p, and pistachio t. Dull green, combined somehow with violet, is the best I can do for w."
I find it highly entertaining that he imagines letters not only as different colors like green, blue, or purple, but "alder-leaf," "pistachio," and "violet." I also find it entertaining that he seems almost exasperated with the letter w and therefore, the color schemes in which he sees the letter is "the best [he] can do." If he sees letters in different colors then I wonder how he views words, sentences, and entire passages? Either as a resplendent rainbow or a horrible mess, I would think!
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Dreams of Ghosts in Nabokov
"Whenever in my dreams I see the dead, they always appear silent, bothered, strangely depressed, quite unlike their dear, bright selves. I am aware of them, withuot any astonishment in surroundings they never visited during their earthly existence, in the house of some friend of mine they never knew. They sit apart, frowning at the floor, as if death were a dark taint, a shameful family secret. It is certainly not then, not in dreams, but when one is wide awake, at moments of robust joy and achievement, on the highest terrace of consciousness, that mortality has a chance to peer beyond its own limits, from the mast, from the past and its castle tower. And although nothing much can be seen through the mist, there is somehow the blissful feeling that one is looking in the right direction." (Page 50)
This is one of my favorite passages in the first four chapters of Vladimir Naobokov's autobiography. I think he hits home with his dreams about the dead. Every time that I have had a dream about someone in my life that has passed away, I only see them as ghosts, and I only see them in states of hopelessness and sorrow, as if death has stolen their souls (which it quite literally has). Every time my subconscious mind brings these ghosts to my dreams, they are never smiling and are almost always crying. The tears are the most vivid pieces of the images. These beings must be missing me just as much as I am missing them.
When one is at his/her happiest, mortality is certainly something that comes to mind. These are the moments when a person believes that his/her life is headed in the right direction, or becoming meaningful day by day. When I am at my happiest, when I have just done something that I am particularly proud of, the cloud-nine feeling ensues. The cloud-nine feeling brings hopes of allowing myself to be suspended in time, being in that moment forever, but then I realize that tomorrow could be very different, with very different (possibly poor and depressing) outcomes. That is life!
'storytelling...
"This is an example of 'storytelling', I arranged actual events so as to make 'a good story' out of them. It is hard to overcome this temptation if you are in the habit of writing fiction, one does it almost automatically".
Mary McCarthy, pg. # 164 + 65
Mary McCarthy, pg. # 164 + 65
Discussion from Thursday, Oct. 2
Just to touch on what was discussed on Thursday...(my last post was on the same topic).
Catholic oppression seems to be a common thread through various narratives (besides this one, Angela's Ashes comes to mind). I'm Catholic and have had a much different experience, so it is interesting to me to read these accounts. Of course I believe them. I only went to Catholic School on Sundays and for camp; I never had to attend a school with nuns everyday of the week, and I also live in a different time period. I also think it has something to do with the Catholics in Mary McCarthy's life. Her grandmother, though innately a good person, used Catholicism as ammunition against others and her hostility came across to Mary. I had a very different type of Catholic grandmother. If you look for the negatives in something, you're sure to find them. But if you look for the positives, you're sure to find those too.
Catholic oppression seems to be a common thread through various narratives (besides this one, Angela's Ashes comes to mind). I'm Catholic and have had a much different experience, so it is interesting to me to read these accounts. Of course I believe them. I only went to Catholic School on Sundays and for camp; I never had to attend a school with nuns everyday of the week, and I also live in a different time period. I also think it has something to do with the Catholics in Mary McCarthy's life. Her grandmother, though innately a good person, used Catholicism as ammunition against others and her hostility came across to Mary. I had a very different type of Catholic grandmother. If you look for the negatives in something, you're sure to find them. But if you look for the positives, you're sure to find those too.
Another Make-Up Post for Mary McCarthy (Catholicism in General)
In class we discussed the portrayal of the Catholic Church and some of us shared our own ideas. I was able to start how I perceived it, but I feel like there's still more I would like to say.
Especially in college, many of us are subjected to novels where Catholicism is critiqued harshly or remembered by many authors as a cruel upbringing. Granted, a lot of the experiences that people have remembered are almost unbelievable. I know that I have been made to read stories about how horrible convents were, mostly in Ireland, where punishments seemed cruel and unusual. Accounts of authors such as James Joyce and Frank McCourt make Catholicism appear to be strict and harsh. In the modern days, the Catholic Church is often associated by the priests who were caught having sexual encounters with altar boys.
All of this and more does upset me, yes, but as a born and raised Catholic I was brought up with a different understanding of the church. To me, going to church was a family experience and was always followed on Sunday mornings by going out to breakfast or getting donuts to have at home. The priest at my church was a gentle and caring man who was very close to our family. It was easy for me to see him as a man rather than JUST a priest, which made it a lot less intimidating for me to see him preaching at church... and "preaching" is used very loosely here. Now that I'm away at college and getting older, I don't attend mass very often and when I do go it's usually because I'm home for the weekend and I decide to go with my parents. My religion is a comfort to me, knowing I have my beliefs and that I can practice them in my own way, and it is not being forced onto me as an obligation. It's because of this that I can read about the Catholic Church and not let it sway my decision to be Catholic.
Especially in college, many of us are subjected to novels where Catholicism is critiqued harshly or remembered by many authors as a cruel upbringing. Granted, a lot of the experiences that people have remembered are almost unbelievable. I know that I have been made to read stories about how horrible convents were, mostly in Ireland, where punishments seemed cruel and unusual. Accounts of authors such as James Joyce and Frank McCourt make Catholicism appear to be strict and harsh. In the modern days, the Catholic Church is often associated by the priests who were caught having sexual encounters with altar boys.
All of this and more does upset me, yes, but as a born and raised Catholic I was brought up with a different understanding of the church. To me, going to church was a family experience and was always followed on Sunday mornings by going out to breakfast or getting donuts to have at home. The priest at my church was a gentle and caring man who was very close to our family. It was easy for me to see him as a man rather than JUST a priest, which made it a lot less intimidating for me to see him preaching at church... and "preaching" is used very loosely here. Now that I'm away at college and getting older, I don't attend mass very often and when I do go it's usually because I'm home for the weekend and I decide to go with my parents. My religion is a comfort to me, knowing I have my beliefs and that I can practice them in my own way, and it is not being forced onto me as an obligation. It's because of this that I can read about the Catholic Church and not let it sway my decision to be Catholic.
Make-Up Post for Mary McCarthy
With all that has been happening to me and my family, the last line of Memories of a Catholic Girlhood stuck out to me.
"At that moment, the fact that my grandmother was senile became real to me."
We discussed in class how that was a fitting ending and there was no use for an italics portion after it with Mary McCarthy explaining it further. It is such a powerful last line and I think that most of us know exactly what she meant in that last line. I have had a few moments in my life where something finally became "real" to me, and one of those moments happened during the time when I was unable to be in class.
My grandfather was an amazing man and represented my idea of strength. He had a very sudden and severe fight with cancer, and I went and saw him when he was at his worst. It was then, seeing him in bed and his struggles to just speak and move, that his illness became real to me. It's an upsetting thing to see a family member completely altered by any disease, and Mary McCarthy hit the nail on the head for me. Throughout the whole book, I found things I could relate to or instances where I could almost get what she was going through without living the experience myself. However, it was that last line that really grabbed my attention, and I was almost sorry that it was the end of the book because then there was nothing more for me to follow.
"At that moment, the fact that my grandmother was senile became real to me."
We discussed in class how that was a fitting ending and there was no use for an italics portion after it with Mary McCarthy explaining it further. It is such a powerful last line and I think that most of us know exactly what she meant in that last line. I have had a few moments in my life where something finally became "real" to me, and one of those moments happened during the time when I was unable to be in class.
My grandfather was an amazing man and represented my idea of strength. He had a very sudden and severe fight with cancer, and I went and saw him when he was at his worst. It was then, seeing him in bed and his struggles to just speak and move, that his illness became real to me. It's an upsetting thing to see a family member completely altered by any disease, and Mary McCarthy hit the nail on the head for me. Throughout the whole book, I found things I could relate to or instances where I could almost get what she was going through without living the experience myself. However, it was that last line that really grabbed my attention, and I was almost sorry that it was the end of the book because then there was nothing more for me to follow.
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