Demian

The third work of Hesse's that I've read. His writing style is especially calculated in Demian. The book demands re-reading; every phrase is polished, every bit of symbolism is perfectly timed. I especially liked how Hesse portrayed Sinclair's dreams. I learned after finishing that the work is semi-autobiographical, dealing with Hesse's experience with Jungian therapy, and his experience as a child in a home like Emil's.

Every mentioning of the 'completeness' theme brought my thoughts back to the inner work I've been trying to do lately. I think this idea of wholeness was clearer to Colin during his reading that it was to me; he's further along that line of thought than I am. Still, I gleaned useful thoughts from that theme and I feel motivated to think about wholeness (I believe Hesse was thinking along the lines of Gnosticism when he wrote Demian, the theme stands without it anyway).

The well-defined 'eras' of Sinclair's life have some meaning for me. "Fate and temperament are two words for the same concept" says he. With each successive phase, S. gets closer to his destiny. His behaviour predicts his future. It does for all of us. The final breaking of the egg must be the death of Demian -- or perhaps it's meeting Eva. I don't really know. Anyway, the paradigm shift which S. constantly experiences is only possible for those who bear the mark of Cain. The mark is common among all of Demians friends, and Sinclair finds it also on Pisorius in a limited way. The feature they all share must be some divine knowledge. Demian gives us the image of evolution to describe the mark, but also that of Cain and Abel. The mark is inexpressible and it torments the bearer. For the sparrow-hawk, the feeling of constantly being born is both a torture and an ecstasy. That's the feeling, it seems, that all the characters who bear the mark have. Sinclair is released from the 'egg' in the final paragraph. After a second reading, the narrative could be that of a baby being born. He's found his destiny at last, and is reborn as Demian.

Steppenwolf

Just as gripping and as soul-wrenching as Narsissus and Goldmund. Luckily I was (somehow) able to catch some sleep between readings of this one. Hesse has such a way of reflecting the soul back to the reader. Steppenwolf forced me to look at the ugly underbelly of humanity. He's relentless, too. Hesse's writing attaches an eye speculum which prevented any observable diversion from the theme. I felt trapped and oppressed, free, or emotional at his whim. Mostly, I felt torn, just like Harry. And just like Harry, I was wrapped in a flurry of intention, illusion, action and fantasy.

I particularly liked how humour was defined and introduced through the magic theatre. It paired well with a book I read today -- which was not quite worth its own entry, unfortunately -- Social Anxiety, by Alain de Botton*. Humour provides a release from the perpetual fear of failure. Finding folly in the rediculousness of man and his society protects us from the agony of their rejection. Maybe it's Pablo's sanguine nature which repulses Harry most of all. In the final pages, the Steppenwolf is able to look at his geminist soul and laugh. The novel ends (and Hesse stressed this to his critics) with a hopeful note. Man can raise himself above the level of the wolf, and see joy.

*Darn it. After On Love, I had such high hopes for this new one by Botton. Evidently, he knows more about romantic love than 'love from the world' (his term).

Madame Bovary

I really felt close to this book. George Orwell put it best when he said “the best books... are those that tell you what you know already”. Emma's seeking, her dreaming, and her romanticism aren't unlike my day dreams. Her fate was a startling warning to me. We cope with adversity the same way.

But what is Emma? Is she ambition, fate, humanity? She's sensitive, Flaubert reminds us by having her faint frequently. And she desires wealth and status. She's only happy with her husband twice in the novel -- after his apparently successful clubfoot surgery, and just before she dies. She's never honest. Very secretive. Strikingly beautiful. Easily influenced. Totally selfish.

She could be rebelling against her fate, lamenting the life of a farmer's daughter and a doctor's wife. If that's the case, the blind old man wandering the roads is certainly an image for Oedipus (I would have missed that if I hadn't just read it!). All Emma wants is to return to the ball given by the Marquis d'Andervilliers. Life for her is endlessly disappointing when she is acting any role but rich wife (or mistress). Then what of her increasing ambivalence during her affair with Leon? Emma is an addict of the bourgoise. She catches it from romantic novels, nurses it, and finally falls victim to its emotional and fiscal symptoms.

Such an absolutely perfect narrative. Some of the greatest novelists in the world call it the best book ever written! So much is written into the detail -- and I can only imagine what the process of translation left out -- that it would take much longer than the couple days I devoted to find all of the subtleties.

Wuthering Heights

Of all the possible ways that this novel could have ended, the least likely was chosen. I did not see a ghost story coming! Lockwood's dream predicted it, and maybe a second reading would reveal more obvious foreshadowing, but it did come as a shock to me.

It was a rattling story all the way through, actually. A slew of unpredictable (and sometimes savage) characters in a matching landscape. Colin was right, there were strong education themes; Hareton is 'tamed' by Catherine's teaching and any character with sense is educated. Even the maid begins her tale by attributing her good breeding to the study of all of the books in the library. The central themes, jealousy and vengefulness, are carved out unabashed in cruelty. I can't stress the cruelty part enough. The characters were engaged in nothing but abuse towards each other. Heathcliff can only be described as a devil. The feeling of the story is so strange, and so disturbing, I'm at a loss to call Wuthering Heights anything except haunting.

The Taming of the Shrew

After Oedipus, it seemed natural to me to continue either with something Greek, or with something dramatic. I couldn't keep myself from Shakespeare.

Even though I found the comedy hilarious and the characters well-drawn, it's been difficult for me to decipher what Shakespeare's meaning was in The Taming of the Shrew. Even Harold Bloom had nothing to say about it, devoting only three pages of his disquisition on the bard to Kate and Petruchio. He calls them the happiest married couple in all of the plays and insists that the secret of it is in Kate's final speech. The meanings of strength and weakness have been switched, says Bloom, and Kate has preserved her voracious will in a way far more refined than that of her sister and the widow.

Muir mentioned the play last term, and ascribed Bianca's mildness to her study of the classics. By extension I assumed he meant that Kate's taming in the same way was prevented by the smashing of the lute and refusal of the tutor. She refuses the activity of a heightened mind, so must be treated like an animal undergoing domestication.

Bloom and Muir differ greatly in their estimation of Kate's mental capacity, and I'm not sure who to believe. Her acid tongue and quick wit make me lean towards Bloom. I do wonder what education has to do with the meaning, since all of the suitors have obviously studied the classics (Petruchio gives an example in his speech about wealthy but venomous women, mentioning Florentine, Sibyl, and Xanthippe).

And why has no one mentioned Bianca and Lucentio? Bianca plays opposite to Katherine, acting perfectly mild but ending the play disobedient. Bloom reflects on this, calling it social commentary. Women can only be 16th century ideals (silent, obedient, pretty) or shrews.

Lucentio abandons his studies to court Bianca, turning Tranio into himself. If the transformation from servant to Lord is a metaphor, education can certainly be counted as a major theme in TOS. Tranio is allowed to don Lucentio's lordly garb after he promises to attend the University in his place. Or, that's just a joke, and Shakespeare's meaning is that the only difference between servants and their masters are clothes.

The play as a whole is equal parts amusing and puzzling. There are so many threads I can hardly count them all. They do weave together nicely into a happy caricature of young people.

Oedipus the King and Oedipus at Colonus

Keeping with the Greek theme, I finished two plays by Sophocles last night. What a perfect theme for how I was feeling. I had no idea the plays would affect me so much. A couple of tears were shed shortly after finishing. Oedipus' lamenting guilt was so powerful in Oedipus Rex, I couldn't help but feel moved. He feels most passionately for those related to him, even more than he feels for himself. His immediate empathy was so powerful. I felt inspired to be more like him in his feelings towards those close to him.

Concerning his culpability, which feels like the central theme of both the plays, Oedipus is morally innocent. He avoids Corinth, even though he longs to see Polybius and Merope, because of the prediction of the Oracle (he will kill his father, etc.). It's the irony and the strange fate that make the play the interesting thing that it is. His intentions are always good -- though sometimes falsely suspicious, such as his accusations towards Creon. He leaves willingly when convicted, ending the city's famine and condemning himself to a life of wandering.

Oedipus at Corinth begins near the end of his life as a wanderer. Sophocles writes this sequel in a similar stage of life, he was ninety years old. Blind, and led in his wandering by his poor daughter Antigone, Oedipus stumbles into a garden at Colonus. His stumbling into a kind and beautiful place, after years of misery, is something of a symbol for the whole play: the Oracle places a value on his final resting place, and consequently Oedipus enjoys a momentary restoration of some small amount of respect. I have to disagree with Sophocles' choice of last words for this play. He places too much emphasis on divinity of fate, instead of the randomness of fate that characterises Oedipus Rex.

Oedipus the King:                                                         Oedipus at Colonus:
O you who are mortal, look upon life's end,                 Now cease,
and on your own.                                                           and lift no more your wailing cry,
Count no man happy until without disaster                  for the events
he pass the last boundary of his life.                             which now have been fulfilled
                                                                                      there lives divine authority.

It's useful to compare the final lines, however, because I think it gives us the most clear example of what it was Sophocles needed to add to the Oedipus character to make him complete. The king is exonerated of his guilt and allowed to forget his life of shame, if momentarily, while the fates shine on him. It's this circularity which defines Oedipus' character. He curses his sons for their heartlessness towards him, which reminded me once again of his empathetic reaction to conviction in Thebes. Oedipus' only comfort in his time of death is that his body is more useful to the world than his life. He goes off to die with no witness except the king of Athens. He is swallowed up by the Earth, leaving no mourner but his daughters.

Herodotus, and the First Week of Free Time

It's been a week since spring session began, and I've been enjoying my time outside of school. The decision not to attend classes has proved to be a great one -- thanks Colin. I've gotten lots of reading done in the past week. Today I tore through a tiny volume of Herodotus titled Snakes with Wings & Gold Digging Ants, and found it hugely entertaining. The book is comprised of short selections from his Histories. The 'Father of History' certainly takes some creative liberties. It was worth it for the captivating, if somewhat fictional, account of many civilizations around Egypt, Libya and Persia circa. 400 BCE.

I'm also most of the way through an Oxford very short introduction to Wittgenstein (required reading before I finish Dave's portrait of W.) and Marcus Aurelius. The Meditations rattle me every time I pick them up. Consequently it's hard to put them down. I'll write a short paragraph for both of them once I finally finish. Also on the desk waiting to be read are Aristotle and Wagner. The bookcase keeps such fantastic company. Slightly less strenuous but equally enjoyable books on the table are Hauser (Psychology) and Woodman (inner work).

As far as summer jobs are concerned, though I'm still looking for work with kids for July-August I've found an interesting employer for the time being. I'm modeling for the WPG Artists, my first shift is on Tuesday. I'll write about how it goes.