Les Testaments Trahis
--------------------Los testamentos traicionados, Milán Kundera, Tusquets Ed., Barcelona, España,2003
Citas,
-- La sátira es un arte con tesis, segura de su propia verdad, ridiculiza lo que decide combatir. La relación del novelista con sus personajee jamás es satírica, es irónica.
-- La ironía quiere decir: ninguna de las afirmaciones que encontramos en la novela puede tomarse aisladamente, ... Sólo una lectura lenta, una o varias veces repetida, pondrá en evidencia todas las relaciones irónicas en el interior de la novela, sin las cuales la novela no sería comprendida.
-- Sin embargo, su inocencia es diabólica. K. ha contravenido misteriosamente las leyes de una misteriosa justicia.. El juez es el doctor Kafka, es acusado el doctor Kafka. Se declara culpable de diabólica inocencia.- A. Vialatte.
-- Una voz desconocida llama por teléfono a K. deberá ser interrogado el domingo siguiente en una casa de la periferia. Sin dudar, decide ir, ¿por obediencia? ¿por miedo? Oh no. La automistificación funciona automáticamente.
-- Sartre: Nuestros queridos valores pierden sus alas; mirándolos de cerca no encontraremos ni uno que no esté manchado de sangre. Es el nihilismo absoluto con relación a todo lo que es trabajo, arte, obra. Desde hace unos setenta años, Europa vive bajo un régimen de proceso.
-- Para mí, Jaromil era un auténtico poeta. un alma inocente.
Después de 1948, durante los años de la revolución comunista en mi país natal, comprendí el eminente papel que desempeña la ceguera lírica en tiempos del terror que , para mí, era la época en la que el poeta reinaba junto al verdugo.
-- Más que el terror, la lirización del terror fue para mí un trauma.. Quedé vacunado para siempre de toda tentación lírica.
-- Los versos satánicos de S. Rushdie, ¨con misteriosa unanimidad la gente de letras, los intelectuales, los asiduos a los salones ignoraron esta novela.¨
-- Después del placer que me produjo el arte de P. Chamoiseau, novelista antillano, y más adelante el de Rushdie, prefiero hablar más globalmente de novela por debajo del paralelo treinta y cinco o de novela del sur: una gran cultura novelesca que se caracteriza por un extraordinario sentido de lo real unido a una desbocada imaginación que va más allá de la reglas de la verosimilitud.
-- Pero el humor, recordando a Octavio Paz, es la gran invención del espíritu moderno. No está ahí desde siempre y tampoco para siempre.
-- Saboreen el título: ¨El reino encantado del amor¨-1926, Max Brod. Esta novela clave es una novela en clave. Esta novela habría sido olvidada antes de que se escribiera de no estar el personaje de Garta. Porque Garta, amigo íntimo de Nowy, es el retrato de Kafka.
-- Admirable paradoja: toda la imágen de Kafka y todo el destino póstumo de su obra son por primera vez concevidos y dibujados en esta novela ingenua, en ese bodrio, en esa fabulación caricaturescamente novelesca que, en lo estético, se sitúa exactamente en el polo opuesto del arte de Kafka.
sábado, 14 de noviembre de 2009
martes, 30 de diciembre de 2008
EDITORIAL SOBRE LITERATOS
El Alefiano Sinderético
La existencia de clubes literarios donde literatos, lectores críticos, sofistas debutantes y letrados establecidos discuten la actualidad parece inquietar a algunos. ¿Por qué le llaman "talleres" a estos centros lúdicos del saber? ¿Será que los que participásemos en esta actividad somos hacedores y no pro activos creadores del post modernismo?
Nos retorcemos internamente con cierta nausea existencial al pensar de nosotros como meros hacedores de versos, pulidores de frases ambiguas, recicladores de metáforas, lavadores de metonimias, secadores de ensayos y cuentos, etcetera.
No es así. Si es de nosotros decidir, nunca se verán las musas llorar por la ausencia de la poesía o la prosa bien lograda. Pensamos con los ultraístas que podemos aproximar la cuadratura del círculo. Que el "quehacer escritural", palabras de J. Marmol, es un continuo acercamiento al absoluto, a un imposible. Gusto de pensar que los pensamientos son más que meras pulsaciones físico-químicas del cerebro o instantáneas agrupaciones aleatorias de dendritas. Quiero que el dictum descartesiano:"cogito, ergo sum" se entienda como incluyente del ser completo físico-espiritual.
Los alefianos participan del sincretismo cultural más amplio. Nos miramos cada día en el espejo mágico de un cuento de Borges o Cortazar, alumbrados por la lámpara de Aladino, todo al compás de la música de Mussorsky-"Pictures on an exhibition".
Sabemos que para los griegos somos la primera letra del alfabeto y para los escandinavos la primera y la última. Nadie se quedo en nuestro círculo sin desarrollar el hábito de leer pro activamente. Pues el que no haya leído a los mejores escritores no puede pretender escribir. Escribir bien sin emulación servil es la meta. La praxis intelectual-creacional preferida por sus posibilidades trascendentales y lúdicas es la escritura. Descreemos de los hablantes desmemoriados; los escritores sin ética que confunden lo lúdico con lo vulgar y asqueante.
Aceptamos la racionabilidad de la producción literaria individual. La lógica natural de cada cual. Acogemos la presentación de lo absurdo de la cotidianidad como punto de partida para versificarla, no anularla. Como los puntos que conforman un círculo son teóricamente infinitos así los puntos de vista u opiniones de los artistas también lo son.
Para aquellos que escribimos por contribuir a la permanencia del arte como manifestación humana con pretensiones universales, el Aleph representa un hito de importancia capital. De nuestra parte, no llorarán las musas en el sepelio del poema.
j. a. canto, MBA
La existencia de clubes literarios donde literatos, lectores críticos, sofistas debutantes y letrados establecidos discuten la actualidad parece inquietar a algunos. ¿Por qué le llaman "talleres" a estos centros lúdicos del saber? ¿Será que los que participásemos en esta actividad somos hacedores y no pro activos creadores del post modernismo?
Nos retorcemos internamente con cierta nausea existencial al pensar de nosotros como meros hacedores de versos, pulidores de frases ambiguas, recicladores de metáforas, lavadores de metonimias, secadores de ensayos y cuentos, etcetera.
No es así. Si es de nosotros decidir, nunca se verán las musas llorar por la ausencia de la poesía o la prosa bien lograda. Pensamos con los ultraístas que podemos aproximar la cuadratura del círculo. Que el "quehacer escritural", palabras de J. Marmol, es un continuo acercamiento al absoluto, a un imposible. Gusto de pensar que los pensamientos son más que meras pulsaciones físico-químicas del cerebro o instantáneas agrupaciones aleatorias de dendritas. Quiero que el dictum descartesiano:"cogito, ergo sum" se entienda como incluyente del ser completo físico-espiritual.
Los alefianos participan del sincretismo cultural más amplio. Nos miramos cada día en el espejo mágico de un cuento de Borges o Cortazar, alumbrados por la lámpara de Aladino, todo al compás de la música de Mussorsky-"Pictures on an exhibition".
Sabemos que para los griegos somos la primera letra del alfabeto y para los escandinavos la primera y la última. Nadie se quedo en nuestro círculo sin desarrollar el hábito de leer pro activamente. Pues el que no haya leído a los mejores escritores no puede pretender escribir. Escribir bien sin emulación servil es la meta. La praxis intelectual-creacional preferida por sus posibilidades trascendentales y lúdicas es la escritura. Descreemos de los hablantes desmemoriados; los escritores sin ética que confunden lo lúdico con lo vulgar y asqueante.
Aceptamos la racionabilidad de la producción literaria individual. La lógica natural de cada cual. Acogemos la presentación de lo absurdo de la cotidianidad como punto de partida para versificarla, no anularla. Como los puntos que conforman un círculo son teóricamente infinitos así los puntos de vista u opiniones de los artistas también lo son.
Para aquellos que escribimos por contribuir a la permanencia del arte como manifestación humana con pretensiones universales, el Aleph representa un hito de importancia capital. De nuestra parte, no llorarán las musas en el sepelio del poema.
j. a. canto, MBA
domingo, 28 de diciembre de 2008
SHORT STORY
MURDER IN PARADISE
"There is no statute of limitations on premeditated murder". The United States Code.
This is the confession of a death row inmate in a federal prison in Georgia. Clearly, it escapes my limited literary achievements to truly convey the power of his lack of remorse and absolute conviction that his criminality is only a point of view of the legality of his actions which he feels are justified by his "rules". What follows , written in first person singular, refers to him always as I.
My friend Jon knew within hours that I had killed her the same day of her return to San Juan from Dublin. It was summer in the Caribbean and I had other women in my mind. As any young man, we felt we needed to defend ourselves from the members of the fast car crowd. They could always get the prettiest girls to go riding with them, even the women tourists enjoyed a fling or a night out with one of them. Those girls did not know the "rules" of death upon return and other honor commitments between them and us.
Jon and I had discussed the fact that every great man of war had killed at least one person before age 18, including Napoleon. Why should we be different? They got away with murder I told him. He assented but argued that we were not great men of war.
She was a beautiful Irish girl, blond and blue-eyed; she reminded me of Marilyn, the actor of "The seven year itch", the same that married a famous novelist of whom I only remember a book, "The death of a salesman". She had a lust for fun and frolic, the kind my mother always warn me about. Dublin was her true teacher and Joyce her photographic revealer. Of course, she was warned by Jon of the honor "rules".
She, smart as any modern liberal relativist theologian, believed that there only one rule: whatever the circumstances dictate. "If you leave make sure you never come back", he said not once but several times during our relationship. "Relationship" being understood in the broadest aception.
With us, the usual second chance, the giving in to the aleatory rules were the law of large numbers underlies all bets, did not exist. In San Juan there was no room for forgiveness, the enemy should never return to the scene of their crimes.
For her, it was another pick up in the middle of the night, a passing moment, just sex for fun to be forgotten after the next drink of Absolut vodka or the next dance. But not for me. I had rules; yes, manly rules of honor. She fooled me once, she went free. Twice, she died.
As a form of consolation, I went back to Molly's monologue and to Segismundo's ( the prince in a Polish prison). Segismundo says in a poem by Calderon de la Barca, "pues el delito mayor del hombre es haber nacido". How true is art after it becomes a reality.
jose a. canto, MBA
"There is no statute of limitations on premeditated murder". The United States Code.
This is the confession of a death row inmate in a federal prison in Georgia. Clearly, it escapes my limited literary achievements to truly convey the power of his lack of remorse and absolute conviction that his criminality is only a point of view of the legality of his actions which he feels are justified by his "rules". What follows , written in first person singular, refers to him always as I.
My friend Jon knew within hours that I had killed her the same day of her return to San Juan from Dublin. It was summer in the Caribbean and I had other women in my mind. As any young man, we felt we needed to defend ourselves from the members of the fast car crowd. They could always get the prettiest girls to go riding with them, even the women tourists enjoyed a fling or a night out with one of them. Those girls did not know the "rules" of death upon return and other honor commitments between them and us.
Jon and I had discussed the fact that every great man of war had killed at least one person before age 18, including Napoleon. Why should we be different? They got away with murder I told him. He assented but argued that we were not great men of war.
She was a beautiful Irish girl, blond and blue-eyed; she reminded me of Marilyn, the actor of "The seven year itch", the same that married a famous novelist of whom I only remember a book, "The death of a salesman". She had a lust for fun and frolic, the kind my mother always warn me about. Dublin was her true teacher and Joyce her photographic revealer. Of course, she was warned by Jon of the honor "rules".
She, smart as any modern liberal relativist theologian, believed that there only one rule: whatever the circumstances dictate. "If you leave make sure you never come back", he said not once but several times during our relationship. "Relationship" being understood in the broadest aception.
With us, the usual second chance, the giving in to the aleatory rules were the law of large numbers underlies all bets, did not exist. In San Juan there was no room for forgiveness, the enemy should never return to the scene of their crimes.
For her, it was another pick up in the middle of the night, a passing moment, just sex for fun to be forgotten after the next drink of Absolut vodka or the next dance. But not for me. I had rules; yes, manly rules of honor. She fooled me once, she went free. Twice, she died.
As a form of consolation, I went back to Molly's monologue and to Segismundo's ( the prince in a Polish prison). Segismundo says in a poem by Calderon de la Barca, "pues el delito mayor del hombre es haber nacido". How true is art after it becomes a reality.
jose a. canto, MBA
jueves, 20 de noviembre de 2008
POESIA
EL HILO
A Saramago
Pendía de un hilo la boca de la serpiente,
sin cuerpo ni alas.
La noche anida su acecho: la madre de madres,
la Eva del vergel perdido tendida al pecho
suspira y acepta su mirar. "No morirás".
Qué dulce, qué suave su gesto al susurrar!
El amor nace a segundos, el fruto al paladar,
comiendo comienza el épico drama,
la sensatez, la envidia, alma desvanece.
El ofidio perfila sus alas al infierno
paraíso del diablo, hecho predestinado
al olvido.
J.A. CANTO, MBA
A Saramago
Pendía de un hilo la boca de la serpiente,
sin cuerpo ni alas.
La noche anida su acecho: la madre de madres,
la Eva del vergel perdido tendida al pecho
suspira y acepta su mirar. "No morirás".
Qué dulce, qué suave su gesto al susurrar!
El amor nace a segundos, el fruto al paladar,
comiendo comienza el épico drama,
la sensatez, la envidia, alma desvanece.
El ofidio perfila sus alas al infierno
paraíso del diablo, hecho predestinado
al olvido.
J.A. CANTO, MBA
domingo, 5 de octubre de 2008
FICTIONAL HISTORY
1923 :A FICTIONAL HISTORY
His lips were turning bluer as the Winter of 1923 got closer.
My party boss was not yet aware of it but my experience told me that Lenin was being poisoned slowly with cyanide by his long time doctor Zelinspeski.
Of course, it was a conspiracy inspired or directed by Bronski, that busybody of a first general of the Red Army, who controlled the commissars in their murderous overnight trials of disaffected army officers or holdovers from the Czarist times.
But, if I go ahead with this accusation and Trotsky becomes the successor of Lenin, I and my boss will be flushed to Siberia.
As of now, we control all hiring of worthy party members by the central government in Moscow. Our three hundred thousand bureaucrats against Trotsky's people's army. My guess is we will win as we did against the misguided White Russians. I calculated the risk of telling my friend Lavrenti about my surmising. After all, he was indebted to Stalin but too young to respond rationally in a political crisis in which both Stalin and Trotsky will pull every painful stop to win the leadership of the party.
Well, my decision to speak was better than no action at all ; and it could result in a more prominent position for me and for Lavrenti. He will urge the boss to announced his intentions to the people on all-Russian radio as soon as the good doctor finishes the job that I suspected he was doing on Lenin, the indisputable, god-like figure of the October Revolution.
I have read comrade Lenin's unpublished articles on the Dictatorship of the so-called Proletariat, just another word for impoverished peoples. Good philosophical stuff but in my measured opinion impractical and dangerous. Lavrenti surely would agree. He will use the secret police against the intellectuals first; that means control of all media of public communication, both intraparty as well as extra-party. None will know what happened here. History will be rewritten to show only our absolute success.
As I had thought, Lavrenti accepted the risk of talking to Stalin. He chose the propitious occasion of Stalin's daughter birthday, a happy moment for all concerned. Lavrenti told me: "let it be". Was that Stalin's answer? Perhaps, but I then knew my head was on a noose and my feet were on a gallows at worse and at the door of leadership in a worker's paradise, at best. I have told Lavrenti of my plans to marry his sister Pollyanna in the Spring. He consented on the condition that I supported his bid for Lieutenant or deputy director of the political arm of the Checka. He hated violence but loved the intrigues of party politics. He always knew who was for or against Stalin from the very beginning. Even at the level of the International Communist Party congress, Lavrenti could ferret out the lukewarm, pro neutrality socialist delegates by memory. He disliked keeping written records, dossiers on top party leaders that could be used for good or for evil. His wisdom proved right in light of the events that history will record with extreme partiality by Winter's end. About two thirds of those delegates were eliminated before the following Congress by Stalinist agents.
I never worry about what people may think when a "fait accompli" is about to become public knowledge under our management of the news. The truth telling will always be favorable to our cause as long as the boss controls the "politburo", a kind of modern archetype of Pontius Pilate, always washing its hands before the mob.
I was in love with Pollyanna. An aristocrat in a plebeian environment, she was as gracious as she was attractive. Above all she was a good judge of character. I needed her beside me at this life changing point. She could dance in this tragic moment. She could laugh just as easily as she could draw at will a tear. But, it was her smile as she turned away that fascinated me. She knew when she was lording over anyone, anything; when her time had come to stay; when her every step would have a loyal follower;when she was my freedom, my Juno in the clouds, all powerful, relentless.
Marriage, a social status in rapid evolution, disappeared after the revolution. But, she was free to turn to bourgeois traditions whenever she thought the circumstances merited it, and our union was one of those.
Lenin, the demigod, died and was embalmed for immortality. I kept his books though as a reminder that the dangers of new philosophies may be as great as the perils of embracing new theories.
j.a.canto, MBA
His lips were turning bluer as the Winter of 1923 got closer.
My party boss was not yet aware of it but my experience told me that Lenin was being poisoned slowly with cyanide by his long time doctor Zelinspeski.
Of course, it was a conspiracy inspired or directed by Bronski, that busybody of a first general of the Red Army, who controlled the commissars in their murderous overnight trials of disaffected army officers or holdovers from the Czarist times.
But, if I go ahead with this accusation and Trotsky becomes the successor of Lenin, I and my boss will be flushed to Siberia.
As of now, we control all hiring of worthy party members by the central government in Moscow. Our three hundred thousand bureaucrats against Trotsky's people's army. My guess is we will win as we did against the misguided White Russians. I calculated the risk of telling my friend Lavrenti about my surmising. After all, he was indebted to Stalin but too young to respond rationally in a political crisis in which both Stalin and Trotsky will pull every painful stop to win the leadership of the party.
Well, my decision to speak was better than no action at all ; and it could result in a more prominent position for me and for Lavrenti. He will urge the boss to announced his intentions to the people on all-Russian radio as soon as the good doctor finishes the job that I suspected he was doing on Lenin, the indisputable, god-like figure of the October Revolution.
I have read comrade Lenin's unpublished articles on the Dictatorship of the so-called Proletariat, just another word for impoverished peoples. Good philosophical stuff but in my measured opinion impractical and dangerous. Lavrenti surely would agree. He will use the secret police against the intellectuals first; that means control of all media of public communication, both intraparty as well as extra-party. None will know what happened here. History will be rewritten to show only our absolute success.
As I had thought, Lavrenti accepted the risk of talking to Stalin. He chose the propitious occasion of Stalin's daughter birthday, a happy moment for all concerned. Lavrenti told me: "let it be". Was that Stalin's answer? Perhaps, but I then knew my head was on a noose and my feet were on a gallows at worse and at the door of leadership in a worker's paradise, at best. I have told Lavrenti of my plans to marry his sister Pollyanna in the Spring. He consented on the condition that I supported his bid for Lieutenant or deputy director of the political arm of the Checka. He hated violence but loved the intrigues of party politics. He always knew who was for or against Stalin from the very beginning. Even at the level of the International Communist Party congress, Lavrenti could ferret out the lukewarm, pro neutrality socialist delegates by memory. He disliked keeping written records, dossiers on top party leaders that could be used for good or for evil. His wisdom proved right in light of the events that history will record with extreme partiality by Winter's end. About two thirds of those delegates were eliminated before the following Congress by Stalinist agents.
I never worry about what people may think when a "fait accompli" is about to become public knowledge under our management of the news. The truth telling will always be favorable to our cause as long as the boss controls the "politburo", a kind of modern archetype of Pontius Pilate, always washing its hands before the mob.
I was in love with Pollyanna. An aristocrat in a plebeian environment, she was as gracious as she was attractive. Above all she was a good judge of character. I needed her beside me at this life changing point. She could dance in this tragic moment. She could laugh just as easily as she could draw at will a tear. But, it was her smile as she turned away that fascinated me. She knew when she was lording over anyone, anything; when her time had come to stay; when her every step would have a loyal follower;when she was my freedom, my Juno in the clouds, all powerful, relentless.
Marriage, a social status in rapid evolution, disappeared after the revolution. But, she was free to turn to bourgeois traditions whenever she thought the circumstances merited it, and our union was one of those.
Lenin, the demigod, died and was embalmed for immortality. I kept his books though as a reminder that the dangers of new philosophies may be as great as the perils of embracing new theories.
j.a.canto, MBA
miércoles, 1 de octubre de 2008
CRITICAL ESSAY
FAULKNER REVISITED
Recently, I had the opportunity to see on television portions of central Oxford, Mississippi. It reminded me that it was time to finish an essay on an aspect of Faulkner's literary life that's little written about: the voice of critics of his works during the 20 years prior to him getting the Nobel of literature, I mean 1949. The years of his Pulitzers came later, in 1955 and posthumously in 1963, after the major newspapers realized they were late in recognizing the new literary colossus.
The literary critics,some of whom I quote at the end, were undecided about whether Faulkner's fiction belonged to the tragic or the realistic traditions of writing, whether his subjects contain morbidity or dwelled on trashy, worthless characters to spice his plots. Some even cast aspersions on his moral standing. Being a Southern gentleman, he should have written in a different, more palatable style with a greater respect for the mores of the people of Jefferson county, or should we say Yornapatawpha county, his mythical place of histrionic action.
Morbosity.Humbug.Every reader wants to know the real, true grit facts of the case in point, the dramatic condition, the iridescent shining moments of willful sinning, the poetic spaces that fill the dreary lives of the castaways, the black murderess who killed for a good cause, the corrupt young man living in a brothel, the older matron inventing a new euphemism for the craziness of her situation, the timeless bumbling fool who reacts hilariously to anything because of his cretinism, the rambling judge judging without knowledge of real causes, the resigned dying lady that gives dignity to her son's job. Those are instances of geniality at the level of a Joyce or a Dostoievski. Hemingway could never write a novel like "The sound and the fury" but, nonetheless, he did write "The sun also rises". To each his own. Morbidity humbug.
Let us allow the realists their place in the literary tradition. Tolstoi, Proust, and the naturalists like Balzac, created a world that touched us all. There in their world all was predetermined, the linear movement of time dominated the dramatic denouement, the epilogue was never prologue. Not for Faulkner or, later in Latin American literature, Cortazar. There is a fantastic bend in the Faulknerian imagination. No American writer surpasses him in the magnitude of his opus: over 20 world class novels and over 100 short stories, a contribution to modern literature not yet equaled with the possible exception of Norman Mailer.
The following are excerpts from critical comments on Faulkner's "The sound and the fury".
All quotations are from Fargnoli's "William Faulkner, a literary companion". They show clearly that the major newspapers that determine who is nominated for a Pulitzer prize were not paying attention to emerging writers, particularly those without a formal college education like Faulkner and Hemingway.
"THE SOUND AND THE FURY"
"From another universal standpoint, the traditional definition of tragedy, Faulkner's achievement is also remarkable." H. N. Smith, "Southern Review"1929.
"Mr.Faulkner adapts James Joyce." "They" -experimenters- "are merely tiresome."Yust,Walter. "Philadelphia Public Ledger". 1929
"Many, I am sure,will call the author mad." Saxon, Lyle, "New York Herald Tribune", 1929.
"The sound and the fury" is a novel of power and terrible sincerity. We do, however, find that the theme,..loses force .. through subjective analysis."Robbins, Frances L. "Outlook and Independent", 1929.
"Flaubert would be amazed. ..Baudelaire alone might be frankly envious. ..Mr. Faulkner excels Baudelaire in his treatment of sin and humanity. Martin, Abbott"Nashville Tennessian" 1929.
"This is an original and impressive book." Davenport, basil "The Saturday review of Literature" 1929."The story seems somehow hidden in itself."The sound and the fury" seems a little far away. In the face of the inevitable relevance of "Farewell to arms"..(Hemingway).. Trilling, Lionel "The Symposium", 1930.
"The sound and the fury" is one of the finest works in the tragic mood yet to appear in America." Baker, julia K.W. "Times Picayune" 1930.
"The dialogue in this book is racy and overwhelmingly convincing." Swinnerton, F. "The evening news", London, 1931.
Comments on "As I Lay Dying"
"The fecundity of an imagination like this is amazing and the ingenuity, too, with which it skips from one sphere of action to another." Dawson, Margaret Cheney, "New York Herald Tribune", Oct. 1930.
"Ernest Hemingway has not advanced from the powerful sketches of "In our time", though "A Farewell to arms" was an admirable novel. ..William Faulkner is a noteworthy exception. He has developed steadily and has become in a very few years an important figure in contemporary fiction." Baker, Julia K.W., "The New Orleans Times Picayune" 1930.
Of all his books,"As I Lay Dying" must be numbered among the foggiest". Quennenell, Peter. "The new statesman and nation" 1935.
Comments on "Sanctuary"
"In the powerful and distressing "Sanctuary" of WF. anti-romance reaches its limit." Canby, Henry Seidel."The Saturday Review of Literature" 1031.
"In "Sanctuary" Faulkner has used a variation of the technique that made "The sound and the fury" and "As I Lay Dying" such brilliant monstrosities." Wheelwright, P. E. "The symposium" 1931.
"Mr. Faulkner is a misanthrope." Scott, R. MC. "T English Review".1931.
Comments on "Requiem for a nun"
"..is in the main a sequel to Sanctuary and is concerned with the further misadventures of Temple Drake.." West, Anthony. "The New Yorker", Sept.22,1931.
"WF in this new novel..writes one sentence that consumes 49 pages, which seems to be almost a life sentence, but who am I to criticize the Old Master..." Little, Carl V. "San Francisco News" 1951.
"It was fashion among the reviewers of the late Thirties to deny his -WF- talent, to accuse him of being scatological, diffuse and violent. Smith, H."The Saturday Review of Literature". 1951.
It is perfectly clear that the "Establishment" in the Eastern United States missed the opportunity to honor the greatest talent that this country had produced in the area of fiction in decades. William Faulkner was vindicated by European readers. Only after he received the Nobel of literature was he accepted for who he was a true genius.
J.A.Canto, MBA
Recently, I had the opportunity to see on television portions of central Oxford, Mississippi. It reminded me that it was time to finish an essay on an aspect of Faulkner's literary life that's little written about: the voice of critics of his works during the 20 years prior to him getting the Nobel of literature, I mean 1949. The years of his Pulitzers came later, in 1955 and posthumously in 1963, after the major newspapers realized they were late in recognizing the new literary colossus.
The literary critics,some of whom I quote at the end, were undecided about whether Faulkner's fiction belonged to the tragic or the realistic traditions of writing, whether his subjects contain morbidity or dwelled on trashy, worthless characters to spice his plots. Some even cast aspersions on his moral standing. Being a Southern gentleman, he should have written in a different, more palatable style with a greater respect for the mores of the people of Jefferson county, or should we say Yornapatawpha county, his mythical place of histrionic action.
Morbosity.Humbug.Every reader wants to know the real, true grit facts of the case in point, the dramatic condition, the iridescent shining moments of willful sinning, the poetic spaces that fill the dreary lives of the castaways, the black murderess who killed for a good cause, the corrupt young man living in a brothel, the older matron inventing a new euphemism for the craziness of her situation, the timeless bumbling fool who reacts hilariously to anything because of his cretinism, the rambling judge judging without knowledge of real causes, the resigned dying lady that gives dignity to her son's job. Those are instances of geniality at the level of a Joyce or a Dostoievski. Hemingway could never write a novel like "The sound and the fury" but, nonetheless, he did write "The sun also rises". To each his own. Morbidity humbug.
Let us allow the realists their place in the literary tradition. Tolstoi, Proust, and the naturalists like Balzac, created a world that touched us all. There in their world all was predetermined, the linear movement of time dominated the dramatic denouement, the epilogue was never prologue. Not for Faulkner or, later in Latin American literature, Cortazar. There is a fantastic bend in the Faulknerian imagination. No American writer surpasses him in the magnitude of his opus: over 20 world class novels and over 100 short stories, a contribution to modern literature not yet equaled with the possible exception of Norman Mailer.
The following are excerpts from critical comments on Faulkner's "The sound and the fury".
All quotations are from Fargnoli's "William Faulkner, a literary companion". They show clearly that the major newspapers that determine who is nominated for a Pulitzer prize were not paying attention to emerging writers, particularly those without a formal college education like Faulkner and Hemingway.
"THE SOUND AND THE FURY"
"From another universal standpoint, the traditional definition of tragedy, Faulkner's achievement is also remarkable." H. N. Smith, "Southern Review"1929.
"Mr.Faulkner adapts James Joyce." "They" -experimenters- "are merely tiresome."Yust,Walter. "Philadelphia Public Ledger". 1929
"Many, I am sure,will call the author mad." Saxon, Lyle, "New York Herald Tribune", 1929.
"The sound and the fury" is a novel of power and terrible sincerity. We do, however, find that the theme,..loses force .. through subjective analysis."Robbins, Frances L. "Outlook and Independent", 1929.
"Flaubert would be amazed. ..Baudelaire alone might be frankly envious. ..Mr. Faulkner excels Baudelaire in his treatment of sin and humanity. Martin, Abbott"Nashville Tennessian" 1929.
"This is an original and impressive book." Davenport, basil "The Saturday review of Literature" 1929."The story seems somehow hidden in itself."The sound and the fury" seems a little far away. In the face of the inevitable relevance of "Farewell to arms"..(Hemingway).. Trilling, Lionel "The Symposium", 1930.
"The sound and the fury" is one of the finest works in the tragic mood yet to appear in America." Baker, julia K.W. "Times Picayune" 1930.
"The dialogue in this book is racy and overwhelmingly convincing." Swinnerton, F. "The evening news", London, 1931.
Comments on "As I Lay Dying"
"The fecundity of an imagination like this is amazing and the ingenuity, too, with which it skips from one sphere of action to another." Dawson, Margaret Cheney, "New York Herald Tribune", Oct. 1930.
"Ernest Hemingway has not advanced from the powerful sketches of "In our time", though "A Farewell to arms" was an admirable novel. ..William Faulkner is a noteworthy exception. He has developed steadily and has become in a very few years an important figure in contemporary fiction." Baker, Julia K.W., "The New Orleans Times Picayune" 1930.
Of all his books,"As I Lay Dying" must be numbered among the foggiest". Quennenell, Peter. "The new statesman and nation" 1935.
Comments on "Sanctuary"
"In the powerful and distressing "Sanctuary" of WF. anti-romance reaches its limit." Canby, Henry Seidel."The Saturday Review of Literature" 1031.
"In "Sanctuary" Faulkner has used a variation of the technique that made "The sound and the fury" and "As I Lay Dying" such brilliant monstrosities." Wheelwright, P. E. "The symposium" 1931.
"Mr. Faulkner is a misanthrope." Scott, R. MC. "T English Review".1931.
Comments on "Requiem for a nun"
"..is in the main a sequel to Sanctuary and is concerned with the further misadventures of Temple Drake.." West, Anthony. "The New Yorker", Sept.22,1931.
"WF in this new novel..writes one sentence that consumes 49 pages, which seems to be almost a life sentence, but who am I to criticize the Old Master..." Little, Carl V. "San Francisco News" 1951.
"It was fashion among the reviewers of the late Thirties to deny his -WF- talent, to accuse him of being scatological, diffuse and violent. Smith, H."The Saturday Review of Literature". 1951.
It is perfectly clear that the "Establishment" in the Eastern United States missed the opportunity to honor the greatest talent that this country had produced in the area of fiction in decades. William Faulkner was vindicated by European readers. Only after he received the Nobel of literature was he accepted for who he was a true genius.
J.A.Canto, MBA
domingo, 7 de septiembre de 2008
CUENTO
CUENTO PARA LA CIENCIA
"Ignorance is the night of the mind." Confucius
Ella había leído la proposición de sojuzgar a Galileo al silencio. El cardenal la había escrito y dejado negligentemente sobre la mesa de estudio.
Ella pensaba que debería ser algo importante pues su amante en la academia de Pisa se sentía apenado por la prisión domiciliaria a la que había quedado sometido Galileo. La Inquisición no había pasado juicio todavía pero se temía un veredicto riguroso para el anciano. El cardenal y la iglesia tenían, como siempre, la entera razón.
El anciano se recantará de sus ideas de 'avant guarde'. La revolución no ocurriría todavía. Quizás, en dos siglos o tres.
Ella lo amaba. No lo quiera comprometer presentándole el documento de proposición cardenalicio. El podía ser sometido por complicidad con el delito del anciano o con la sustracción ilícita de un documento religioso-jurídico que constituía un abuso de confianza de parte de ella. Ella prefiere relatarle su acto de valentía. He encontrado el sometimiento al tribunal de la Inquisicion del noble Galileo. El texto indica que la razón principal de la acción judicial es su empecinado pujar por la movilidad de la Tierra alrededor del sol.
El le respondió con una sorprendente revelación.
"Yo confieso creerle al anciano", dijo. Además, tengo una teoría propia que tiene que ver con la futilidad de las discusiones pseudocientificas. Quiero decir esas nociones dogmáticas basadas en las matemáticas. Mi filosofía es que las tautologías dominan las racionalizaciones. Las observaciones, por buenas que sean, llevan a conclusiones erróneas o a verdades parciales. Por ejemplo, tomemos la infinitud del universo: si es infinito, no importa donde estés, en la Luna o en Júpiter, siempre estarás en el centro del circulo o de su diámetro. Así, podemos pensar que todo se mueve alrededor nuestro.
"No hables de tu teoría con nadie, deja esas disputas para el anciano y los inquisidores" le aconsejó ella. Es verdad, somos solo los infinitos puntos del circulo universal. En el ámbito mas pequeño o en la linea mas tenue caben todos los puntos del universo.
"Retornaré el documento a la oficina". Espera por mi aquí. "Ten mucho cuidado, pues todo se descubre en una ciudad pequeña como Pisa." Ella se fue a la oficina cardenalicia. El jamas volvió a verla. Se había esfumado del planeta.
j.a.canto, MBA
"Ignorance is the night of the mind." Confucius
Ella había leído la proposición de sojuzgar a Galileo al silencio. El cardenal la había escrito y dejado negligentemente sobre la mesa de estudio.
Ella pensaba que debería ser algo importante pues su amante en la academia de Pisa se sentía apenado por la prisión domiciliaria a la que había quedado sometido Galileo. La Inquisición no había pasado juicio todavía pero se temía un veredicto riguroso para el anciano. El cardenal y la iglesia tenían, como siempre, la entera razón.
El anciano se recantará de sus ideas de 'avant guarde'. La revolución no ocurriría todavía. Quizás, en dos siglos o tres.
Ella lo amaba. No lo quiera comprometer presentándole el documento de proposición cardenalicio. El podía ser sometido por complicidad con el delito del anciano o con la sustracción ilícita de un documento religioso-jurídico que constituía un abuso de confianza de parte de ella. Ella prefiere relatarle su acto de valentía. He encontrado el sometimiento al tribunal de la Inquisicion del noble Galileo. El texto indica que la razón principal de la acción judicial es su empecinado pujar por la movilidad de la Tierra alrededor del sol.
El le respondió con una sorprendente revelación.
"Yo confieso creerle al anciano", dijo. Además, tengo una teoría propia que tiene que ver con la futilidad de las discusiones pseudocientificas. Quiero decir esas nociones dogmáticas basadas en las matemáticas. Mi filosofía es que las tautologías dominan las racionalizaciones. Las observaciones, por buenas que sean, llevan a conclusiones erróneas o a verdades parciales. Por ejemplo, tomemos la infinitud del universo: si es infinito, no importa donde estés, en la Luna o en Júpiter, siempre estarás en el centro del circulo o de su diámetro. Así, podemos pensar que todo se mueve alrededor nuestro.
"No hables de tu teoría con nadie, deja esas disputas para el anciano y los inquisidores" le aconsejó ella. Es verdad, somos solo los infinitos puntos del circulo universal. En el ámbito mas pequeño o en la linea mas tenue caben todos los puntos del universo.
"Retornaré el documento a la oficina". Espera por mi aquí. "Ten mucho cuidado, pues todo se descubre en una ciudad pequeña como Pisa." Ella se fue a la oficina cardenalicia. El jamas volvió a verla. Se había esfumado del planeta.
j.a.canto, MBA
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)
