to explore the mind of steve tomasula go to:
http://www.stevetomasula.com/short.htm
i suggest reading the multimedia fictions and the short fictions.
to explore the mind of shelly jackson go to:
http://ineradicablestain.com/stain.html
lemme know whatchoo think.
love lidia
hey–sorry–i forgot to put the “space” up for blood and guts. oops.
Though I’d be interested to hear ANY kind of response related to how you think the politics of this literature are playing out, I hope that at least some of you comment too on the form–that is, that it is a graphic novel, that it relies on image sequences and image-text interplay to make its meanings.
Too I think these topics are of note:
war
violence
nationalism
identity (individual and cultural)
gender
family
love
hey hoodlums:
i have to go to seattle tuesday night to help my sister out with something important. no class this week.
we will pick up persepolis NEXT week, so your posts are due MON MAY 19th midnight.
cheers,
dr. lid
as you read, try to track:
who are the invisible monsters? how is “monstrous” defined? what’s the relationship between the characters and the society they inhabit? what’s the terrain of the society? how is identity at issue in this story? how is appearance deconstructed?
love lidia
(here’s the link to debra’s interview) http://avantwomenwriters.blogspot.com/2008/03/interview-with-debra-diblasi.html)
1. debra claims that she structured the book around “systems theory.” Systems theory is an interdisciplinary field of science and the study of the nature of complex systems in nature, society, and science. More specificially, it is a framework by which one can analyze and/or describe any group of objects that work in concert to produce some result. This could be a single organism, any organization or society, or any electro-mechanical or informational artifact.
do you think her book reflects a “systems theory” approach to narrative/storytelling? how?
2. several of you may experience the “alienated reader” effect. you know, when a book puts you as a reader in an uncomfortable, sometimes even antagonistic position while you are reading. when i first read this book i actually felt assaulted. so my question is, is there any value or point to that? are there any gains to be made by placing the reader there, as opposed to, say, placing the reader in the oprah sofa comfort zone?
3. debra calls this kind of writing “multimodal.” what do you think that means? what do you think about the effects or possibilities of “multimodal” writing? according to debra, writing must evolve in relation to our current technologies and cultural productions…
4. debra says in several different interviews, including the one i sent you the website for, that underneath the story of this weird jiri character are important issues of race, class, gender, death, and the human condition. does the book raise those issues? how? does it make you think more deeply about them, or turn you off?
5. some people have said that men have an easier time getting away with raw, disturbing writing than women writers. that writers like william burroughs, or alain robbe grillet, or chuck palahniuk are treated like famous authors when they write raw, sexually explicit, violent prose. whereas when women do it, it’s downright distasteful. ew. do you agree? why or why not? is there any merit in women writers driving their prose into darker territories of storytelling?
love lidia
Franz Kafka ([ˈfʀanʦ ˈkafka]) (3 July 1883 – 3 June 1924) was one of the major German-language fiction writers of the 20th century. He was born to a middle-class Jewish family in Prague, Austria-Hungary (now Czech Republic). His unique body of writing – much of which is incomplete and was published posthumously – is among the most influential in Western literature.[1]
His stories, such as The Metamorphosis (1915), and novels, including The Trial (1925) and The Castle (1926), concern troubled individuals in a nightmarishly impersonal and bureaucratic world.
On November 1, 1907, he was hired at the Assicurazioni Generali, a huge Italian insurance company, where he worked for nearly a year. His correspondence, during that period, witnesses that he was unhappy with his working time schedule – from 8 p.m. (20:00) until 6 a.m. (06:00) – as it made it extremely difficult for him to concentrate on his writing. On July 15, 1908, he resigned, and two weeks later found more congenial employment with the Worker’s Accident Insurance Institute for the Kingdom of Bohemia. His father often referred to his son’s job as insurance officer as a “Brotberuf”, literally “bread job”, a job done only to pay the bills. However, he did not show any signs of indifference towards his job, as the several promotions that he received during his career suggest that he was a hardworking employee. A little-known fact about this period, reported by Peter Drucker in Managing in the Next Society, is that Kafka invented the first civilian hard hat. He received a medal for this invention in 1912 because it reduced Bohemian steel mill deaths to fewer than 25 per thousand employees. He was also given the task of compiling and composing the annual report and was reportedly quite proud of the results, sending copies to friends and family. In parallel, Kafka was also committed to his literary work. Together with his close friends Max Brod and Felix Weltsch, these three were called “Der enge Prager Kreis”, the close Prague circle, which was part of a broader Prague Circle, “a loosely knit group of German-Jewish writers who contributed to the culturally fertile soil of Prague during the 1880s until after World War I.”[8]
In 1911, Karl Hermann, spouse of his sister Elli, proposed Kafka collaborate in the operation of an asbestos factory known as Prager Asbestwerke Hermann and Co. Kafka showed a positive attitude at first, dedicating much of his free time to the business. During that period, he also found interest and entertainment in the performances of Yiddish theatre, despite the misgivings of even close friends such as Max Brod, who usually supported him in everything else. Those performances also served as a starting point for his growing relationship with Judaism.
In 1912, at Max Brod’s home, Kafka met Felice Bauer, who lived in Berlin and worked as a representative for a dictaphone company. Over the next five years they corresponded a great deal, met occasionally, and twice were engaged to be married. Their relationship finally ended in 1917.
In 1917, Kafka began to suffer from tuberculosis, which would require frequent convalescence during which he was supported by his family, most notably his sister Ottla. Despite his fear of being perceived as both physically and mentally repulsive, he impressed others with his boyish, neat, and austere good looks, a quiet and cool demeanor, obvious intelligence and dry sense of humor.[9]
In the early 1920s he developed an intense relationship with Czech journalist and writer Milena Jesenská. In 1923, he briefly moved to Berlin in the hope of distancing himself from his family’s influence to concentrate on his writing. In Berlin, he lived with Dora Diamant, a 25-year-old kindergarten teacher from an orthodox Jewish family, who was independent enough to have escaped her past in the ghetto. Dora became his lover, and influenced Kafka’s interest in the Talmud.[10]
It is generally agreed that Kafka suffered from clinical depression and social anxiety throughout his entire life[citation needed]. He also suffered from migraines, insomnia, constipation, boils, and other ailments, all usually brought on by excessive stresses and strains. He attempted to counteract all of this by a regimen of naturopathic treatments, such as a vegetarian diet and the consumption of large quantities of unpasteurized milk. However, Kafka’s tuberculosis worsened; he returned to Prague, then went to Dr. Hoffmann sanatorium in Kierling near Vienna for treatment, where he died on June 3, 1924, apparently from starvation. The condition of Kafka’s throat made eating too painful for him, and since intravenous therapy had not been developed, there was no way to feed him (a fate resembling that of Gregor in the Metamorphosis and the main character of A Hunger Artist). His body was ultimately brought back to Prague where he was interred on June 11, 1924, in the New Jewish Cemetery (sector 21, row 14, plot 33) in Prague-Žižkov.
Kafka maintained his indifference to formal religion throughout most of his life. While he had a sense of Jewish identity, this identity was complicated by a sense of alienation from Judaism and Jewish life: “What have I in common with Jews? I have hardly anything in common with myself and should stand very quietly in a corner, content that I can breathe.”[11] Kafka wrote that even his father attended synagogue only four times per year; when he accompanied his father, he reported that he “almost suffocated from the terrible boredom and pointlessness of the hours in the synagogue.”[11]
During the later years of his life, Kafka suggested an interest in moving to Palestine. At this stage of his life, he was in quite ill health, and Palestine seemed to represent something metaphysical to him: “If I’m never going to leave my bed why shouldn’t I go at least as far as Palestine?”[12]
Franz Kafka’s grave in Prague-Žižkov.
Kafka published only a few short stories during his lifetime, a small part of his work, and never finished any of his novels (with the possible exception of The Metamorphosis, which some consider to be a short novel). His writing attracted little attention until after his death. Prior to his death, he instructed his friend and literary executor Max Brod to destroy all of his manuscripts. His lover, Dora Diamant, partially executed his wishes, secretly keeping up to 20 notebooks and 35 letters until they were confiscated by the Gestapo in 1933. An ongoing international search is being conducted for these missing Kafka papers. Brod overrode Kafka’s instructions and instead oversaw the publication of most of the work in his possession, which soon began to attract attention and high critical regard.
All of Kafka’s published works, except several letters he wrote in Czech to Milena Jesenská, were written in German.
Kafka often made extensive use of a trait special to the German language allowing for long sentences that sometimes can span an entire page. Kafka’s sentences then deliver an unexpected impact just before the period – that being the finalizing meaning and focus. This is achieved due to the construction of certain sentences in German which require that the verb be positioned at the end of the sentence. Such constructions cannot be duplicated in English, so it is up to the translator to provide the reader with the same effect found in the original text.[13] One such instance of a Kafka translator’s quandary is demonstrated in the first sentence of The Metamorphosis.
Another virtually insurmountable problem facing the translator is how to deal with the author’s intentional use of ambiguous terms or of words that have several meanings. An example is Kafka’s use of the German noun Verkehr in the final sentence of The Judgment. The sentence can be translated as: “At that moment an unending stream of traffic crossed over the bridge.“[14] What gives added weight to the obvious double meaning of Verkehr is Kafka’s confession to his friend and biographer Max Brod that when he wrote that final line, he was thinking of “a violent ejaculation.” In the English translation, of course, what can Verkehr be but “traffic”?[15]
Mishima
Yukio Mishima is considered by many critics as the most important Japanese novelist of the 20th century. Mishima’s works include 40 novels, poetry, essays, and modern Kabuki and Noh dramas. He was three times nominated for the Nobel Prize for literature. Among his masterpieces is The Temple of the Golden Pavilion (1956). The tetralogy The Sea of Fertility (1965-70) is regarded by many as Mishima’s most lasting achievement. As a writer Mishima drew inspiration from pre-modern literature, both Japanese and Western. The Story “Patriotism” is said to be his favorite short story.
On November 25, 1970, Mishima and four members of the Tatenokai, under pretext, visited the commandant of the Ichigaya Camp – the Tokyo headquarters of the Eastern Command of Japan’s Self-Defense Forces. Inside, they barricaded the office and tied the commandant to his chair. With a prepared manifesto and banner listing their demands, Mishima stepped onto the balcony to address the soldiers gathered below. His speech was intended to inspire a coup d’etat restoring the powers of the emperor. He succeeded only in irritating them, however, and was mocked and jeered. He finished his planned speech after a few minutes, returned in to the commandant’s office and committed seppuku. The customary kaishakunin duty at the end of this ritual had been assigned to Tatenokai member Masakatsu Morita, but Morita was unable to properly perform the task: after several attempts, he allowed another Tatenokai member, Hiroyasu Koga, to behead him.
Another traditional element of the suicide ritual was the composition of jisei (death poems), before their entry into the headquarters.[4] Mishima prepared his suicide meticulously for at least a year and no one outside the group of hand-picked Tatenokai members had any indication of what he was planning. His biographer, translator, and former friend John Nathan suggests that the coup attempt was only a pretext for the ritual suicide of which Mishima had long dreamed.[citation needed] Mishima made sure his affairs were in order, and left money for the defense trial of the three surviving Tatenokai members.
Much speculation has surrounded Mishima’s suicide. At the time of his death he had just completed the final book in his The Sea of Fertility tetralogy. He was recognized as one of the most important post-war stylists of the Japanese language.
Mishima wrote 40 novels, 18 plays, 20 books of short stories, and at least 20 books of essays, as well as one libretto. A large portion of this oeuvre comprises books written quickly for profit, but even if these are disregarded, a substantial body of work remains.
Mishima espoused a very individual brand of nationalism towards the end of his life. He was hated by leftists, in particular for his outspoken and anachronistic commitment to the bushido code of the samurai, and by mainstream nationalists for his contention, in Bunka Boeiron (A Defense of Culture), that Hirohito should have abdicated and taken responsibility for the war dead.
Good questions to think about:
–why is he juxtaposing sexuality and violence (death)?
–explore his definition of “patriotism.” how is it the same as or different from your idea of American “patriotism.”
–what can we learn about him, Japanese culture, Japanese literature, Japanese value systems, Japanese literature, from reading this? Is it important to give special attention to its cultural specificity? Why or why not?
so.
this is our own, personal blog space for the POLITICS OF LIT class. you are responsible for posting 250 words each week by monday, midnight, starting april 7. your posts should be about the books we read–or you can respond to other people’s thoughts.
1. Patriotism/Yukio Mishima
2. The Trial/Franz Kafka
3. The Jiri Chronicles/Debra DiBlasi
4. Invisible Monsters/Chuck Palahniuk
5. Persepholis/Marjane Satrapi
6. Blood and Guts in High School/Kathy Acker
7. Packet of shorts
8. film
onward.
lid
