So, this last week kind of got away from me. Mostly, the (hopefully temporary) return of my insomnia has been my undoing - it's very difficult to compose decent sentences when you're barely getting any sleep at all. Then, there was the usual weekend revelry (including an incredibly impressive performance on my part at the launch of the Manchester Metropolitan University Art & Design degree show - so much free wine, that led to all manner of questionable behaviour afterwards, and a fair amount of memory loss) acting as a further distraction. Which is why my last entry was over a week ago. Which I'm not thrilled about - I really did want this to be a regular thing. Which is why I've decided to outline what I expect to be posting in the following days - as much as a reminder to myself, as to anyone who might be reading this.
Firstly, I'll be continuing The 69 Love Songs Project. I haven't decided on songs six through ten yet, but I have plenty of candidates in mind, Pasty Cline's "Crazy," Elton John's "Your Song," Nilsson's "Without You," Roy Orbison's "Crying" and Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl" amongst them. As those songs would suggest, the next instalment will be more about acknowledged classics of the genre.
I'll probably be offering a review of Milan Kundera's Life Is Elsewhere at some point in the near future; I've barely picked it up this week, due to my aforementioned difficulties/distractions, but I'm sure I'll get it finished presently. I hope so - I'm not reading anywhere near as much as I'd like to be. And considering that we're planning on setting up a library in our new house...after that, I think Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities may well be my next port of call - I'm really trying to take this 'English Literature Student' thing to new extremes, with the loose aim being to have read as many classics by this time next year.
And at some point, a trip to the cinema to see Looking For Eric needs to happen...any film centred around Eric Cantona is certainly going to get me out of the house. Hopefully, it'll live up to its promise/premise.
Monday 15 June 2009
Friday 12 June 2009
The 69 Love Songs Project part one
...of an occasional series that exists entirely to allow me to talk about some of my favourite songs.
I've become totally infatuated with The Magnetic Fields's "69 Love Songs" as of late, at the exact same time my interest in music has waned a little (I go through these phases from time to time; I hate to be one of those people claiming that "there's just not that much new music that interests me at the moment," but...). But anyway, the variety of songs "69 Love Songs" offers is proof that Stephin Merritt is one of the most talented voices in modern music, and the album offers more with every listen. It would be one thing to admire the ambition and scope such a project entails, but that it is so successful musically is really something to behold.
The very nature of the album has gotten me to thinking of the importance of love as a theme in songwriting. In fact, I wrote an essay on lost love for one of my degree courses (American Popular Song), using Jimmy Ruffin's "What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted" and The Louvin Brothers "When I Stop Dreaming" as examples. The conclusion I drew was an obvious one - that love can leave its mark in many ways, but in the aftermath it often leaves the afflicted wishing they'd never found it in the first place.
This fits in nicely with "69 Love Songs," which isn't exclusively positive exploration of love. There's plenty of heartbreak - the various narrator's speak of needing a new heart to replace a broken one; of bitter tears and love in the shadows. "Yeah! Oh, Yeah!" sees a girl asking "are you out of love with me?" to a guy who responds emphatically with the words of the title. The tone is often downbeat, which makes the work all the more honest - love is many things, but it'd be ridiculous to ignore the negative sides of it.
These considerations have led me to one question - what would my own personal sixty-nine favourite love songs be? Well, that's what I intend to find out - at present, it's not like I have a list already drawn up, even though some of the songs that will appear are a given. So I'm not presenting them in any kind of order or ranking, instead simply writing about them as they stand out to me as deserving inclusion on this list. Today, it's a handful of alternative rock staples, but in future installments I'll definitely be broadening my scope.
1. Neutral Milk Hotel "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea"
Where to start with what I consider to be the greatest album of all time? (to such an extent that I don't really consider there to be any room for debate.) I've never felt as emotionally connected to any piece of art - the number of lines that floor me every single time is staggering. I used to play these songs through my head whilst working my crappy supermarket job, and they not only got me through the day, but they got to me even then - I'd have to disguise my state as best as possible whilst feeling overwhelmingly affected by the beauty of Jeff Mangum's work. In particular, the lines "as we would lay and learn what each other's bodies were for," from opening song "King Of Carrot Flowers pt. One," and "in my dreams you're alive and you're crying," from closing song "Two-Headed Boy Pt. Two," never fail to evoke a reaction. To me, that's exactly what music should be capable of.
However, it's the title track that really gets to the hopeless romantic in me. From the opening line - "what a beautiful face I have found in this place that is circling all round the sun" - there is a sense of joy that prevails throughout, as though Mangum has found the perfect girl, and not only wants to express how happy he is to have done so, but to justify the weight of his feelings by drawing parallels between love and the wonder of creation. By the end of the song, Mangum is marvelling at "how strange it is to be anything at all," a remarkable line that takes the song right back to its beginnings, highlighting the transformative power of love. At no point is he kidding himself - he knows that one day it will come to an end, that "one day we will die/and our ashes will fly/from the aeroplane over the sea," but that doesn't matter, because in the here and now, everything is perfect.
2. The Postal Service "Such Great Heights"
One of those bands that came to me at exactly the right time in my life. Already a devoted fan of Death Cab For Cutie, I'd read a couple of (mixed) reviews about a new Ben Gibbard side project, without particularly feeling like it was essential to my life. I only bought it because I stumbled across it in the HMV that used to live in Manchester Piccadilly train station, and only then because I had the exact amount of money in my pocket to purchase it with. I didn't get the chance to listen to it for a few hours, so I read through the lyrics (not something I do too often, because for the most part, song lyrics are only successful as song lyrics). And to be honest, there didn't appear to that much substance to them. Of course, having listened to the album a few times, all I felt was a sense of love towards it. Sure, it isn't perfect, but there's enough good about it to mean that it has still retained its importance to me to this day.
I'll readily admit that the lyrics of "Such Great Heights" are somewhat trite, in a way that would undoubtedly annoy the hell out of me if I didn't like the music. But this is Gibbard at his most gloriously uplifting - how can you not get swept up in a love story where the narrator speculates "that God himself did make us into corresponding shapes/like puzzle pieces from the clay"? Gibbard doesn't really belive the sentiment as such - acknowledging that it "may seem like a stretch" - but that isn't the point - it's the thought that counts. It isn't a complicated song, but it is another fantastic example of the transformative power of love - which has literally lifted the protagonists of the song to the "great heights" of the title - and another example of two people finding perfection in the faces of one another.
3. Pavement "Major Leagues"
Not known for being a straightforward lyricist - and often choosing to be actively disingenuous - Stephen Malkmus does have moments of openness that stand out a mile from the rest of his oeuvre. "Here," from first album "Slanted and Enchanted," is a good example - the opening lines "I was dressed for success/but success it never comes" carry with them an air of absolute failure that manifests itself as self-pity; the plaintive desire of "Range Life" - "if I could settle down/then I would settle down" - comes across as a genuine yearning for an easier life; and in "Shady Lane," when he declares that "I'm an island of such great complexity," you get the sense that he's speaking on a personal level.
"Major Leagues," however, stands out as the clearest statement of sentiment in the Pavement catalogue - at one point, Malkmus even goes so far as to sing "cater to my walls and see if they fall/don't leave me," trying to bury "don't leave me" under the weight of the preceding line in an effort to disguise the desperation those three words contain, but not quite succeeding. When the song first begins, it sounds like a love song, but the dismissive nature of the second line ("relationships, hey, hey, hey," delivered as though they're the least interesting subject in the world) shakes that false sense of security, creating a new state whereby you expect Malkmus's usual lyrical evasiveness. But he can't keep it up, going on to remark of his lover that "you kiss like a rock/but you know I need it anyway," and in the process displaying weakness for everyone to see. "Major Leagues" certainly doesn't detail a conventional love, but it captures perfectly the neediness that is always partially associated with the feeling.
4. The Shins "New Slang"
When considering The Shins for this list, it occurred to me that, as far as "Oh, Inverted World" is concerned, the lyrical content has always been something of a mystery to me. So reading through the booklet, I was delighted to realise that "New Slang" is indeed a song about love - of love lost, more precisely. It's honest and open in the same way "Major Leagues" is - it contains the exact same sense of longing for companionship - but whereas Malkmus is seemingly clinging on to something that he isn't entirely satisfied with, in "New Slang" James Mercer is yearning for the past. The song begins by detailing the naivety involved with the initial stages of becoming intimate with someone new, the line "I was happier then with no mindset," capturing the sense of easy contentment that soon gives way to a process of overthinking everything, a process that is often the death of any burgeoning relationship.
That's exactly what the rest of the song details, and it sees Mercer in a particularly somber mood. He makes the mistake so many of us make, motivated by the same feelings that drive us towards it, revealing that he "never should have called/but my heads to the wall and I'm lonely," knowing that it was the wrong thing to do from the start but going through with it anyway, because it somehow feels right. Ths song makes it clear that whatever he felt for the girl, she didn't share, Mercer singing "if you'd 'a took to me like/a gull takes to the wind," with the key word obviously being 'if.' 'If' she had of done, "the rest of (their) lives would'a fared well." But because she didn't, Mercer is riddled with self-doubt, his feelings of hopelessness best expressed in the line "I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find." He details the feelings associated with the aftermath of any love affair brilliantly, coming across as a man who has completely given up, who sees no future for himself outside of the relationship that he has lost.
5. The Mountain Goats "No Children"
A song I'm completely obsessed with at the moment, even though that can't be seen as a good thing when you consider its lyrical content, with the lines "I hope you die/I hope we both die" being the payoff to each verse of gradually escalating rancour. Has anyone ever captured love gone sour so bitterly as John Darnielle in this song? The narrator hates his ex-wife ("I hope I lie/and tell everyone you were a good wife), his friends (whom he hopes "give up on trying to save us," and if they don't it doesn't matter, because he'll "come up with a fail-safe plot/to piss off the dumb few that forgave us"), and even himself (not only hoping for his own death, but declaring that "I hope I never stay sober"). He's positively embraced the collapse of his marriage - which the title implies has ended because of irreconcilable differences over the issue of children - which may simply be a coping mechanism, or may indeed be the celebration the song sometimes suggests. Either way, when singing "I hope it stays dark forever/I hope the worst isn't over," you believe him.
I've become totally infatuated with The Magnetic Fields's "69 Love Songs" as of late, at the exact same time my interest in music has waned a little (I go through these phases from time to time; I hate to be one of those people claiming that "there's just not that much new music that interests me at the moment," but...). But anyway, the variety of songs "69 Love Songs" offers is proof that Stephin Merritt is one of the most talented voices in modern music, and the album offers more with every listen. It would be one thing to admire the ambition and scope such a project entails, but that it is so successful musically is really something to behold.
The very nature of the album has gotten me to thinking of the importance of love as a theme in songwriting. In fact, I wrote an essay on lost love for one of my degree courses (American Popular Song), using Jimmy Ruffin's "What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted" and The Louvin Brothers "When I Stop Dreaming" as examples. The conclusion I drew was an obvious one - that love can leave its mark in many ways, but in the aftermath it often leaves the afflicted wishing they'd never found it in the first place.
This fits in nicely with "69 Love Songs," which isn't exclusively positive exploration of love. There's plenty of heartbreak - the various narrator's speak of needing a new heart to replace a broken one; of bitter tears and love in the shadows. "Yeah! Oh, Yeah!" sees a girl asking "are you out of love with me?" to a guy who responds emphatically with the words of the title. The tone is often downbeat, which makes the work all the more honest - love is many things, but it'd be ridiculous to ignore the negative sides of it.
These considerations have led me to one question - what would my own personal sixty-nine favourite love songs be? Well, that's what I intend to find out - at present, it's not like I have a list already drawn up, even though some of the songs that will appear are a given. So I'm not presenting them in any kind of order or ranking, instead simply writing about them as they stand out to me as deserving inclusion on this list. Today, it's a handful of alternative rock staples, but in future installments I'll definitely be broadening my scope.
1. Neutral Milk Hotel "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea"
Where to start with what I consider to be the greatest album of all time? (to such an extent that I don't really consider there to be any room for debate.) I've never felt as emotionally connected to any piece of art - the number of lines that floor me every single time is staggering. I used to play these songs through my head whilst working my crappy supermarket job, and they not only got me through the day, but they got to me even then - I'd have to disguise my state as best as possible whilst feeling overwhelmingly affected by the beauty of Jeff Mangum's work. In particular, the lines "as we would lay and learn what each other's bodies were for," from opening song "King Of Carrot Flowers pt. One," and "in my dreams you're alive and you're crying," from closing song "Two-Headed Boy Pt. Two," never fail to evoke a reaction. To me, that's exactly what music should be capable of.
However, it's the title track that really gets to the hopeless romantic in me. From the opening line - "what a beautiful face I have found in this place that is circling all round the sun" - there is a sense of joy that prevails throughout, as though Mangum has found the perfect girl, and not only wants to express how happy he is to have done so, but to justify the weight of his feelings by drawing parallels between love and the wonder of creation. By the end of the song, Mangum is marvelling at "how strange it is to be anything at all," a remarkable line that takes the song right back to its beginnings, highlighting the transformative power of love. At no point is he kidding himself - he knows that one day it will come to an end, that "one day we will die/and our ashes will fly/from the aeroplane over the sea," but that doesn't matter, because in the here and now, everything is perfect.
2. The Postal Service "Such Great Heights"
One of those bands that came to me at exactly the right time in my life. Already a devoted fan of Death Cab For Cutie, I'd read a couple of (mixed) reviews about a new Ben Gibbard side project, without particularly feeling like it was essential to my life. I only bought it because I stumbled across it in the HMV that used to live in Manchester Piccadilly train station, and only then because I had the exact amount of money in my pocket to purchase it with. I didn't get the chance to listen to it for a few hours, so I read through the lyrics (not something I do too often, because for the most part, song lyrics are only successful as song lyrics). And to be honest, there didn't appear to that much substance to them. Of course, having listened to the album a few times, all I felt was a sense of love towards it. Sure, it isn't perfect, but there's enough good about it to mean that it has still retained its importance to me to this day.
I'll readily admit that the lyrics of "Such Great Heights" are somewhat trite, in a way that would undoubtedly annoy the hell out of me if I didn't like the music. But this is Gibbard at his most gloriously uplifting - how can you not get swept up in a love story where the narrator speculates "that God himself did make us into corresponding shapes/like puzzle pieces from the clay"? Gibbard doesn't really belive the sentiment as such - acknowledging that it "may seem like a stretch" - but that isn't the point - it's the thought that counts. It isn't a complicated song, but it is another fantastic example of the transformative power of love - which has literally lifted the protagonists of the song to the "great heights" of the title - and another example of two people finding perfection in the faces of one another.
3. Pavement "Major Leagues"
Not known for being a straightforward lyricist - and often choosing to be actively disingenuous - Stephen Malkmus does have moments of openness that stand out a mile from the rest of his oeuvre. "Here," from first album "Slanted and Enchanted," is a good example - the opening lines "I was dressed for success/but success it never comes" carry with them an air of absolute failure that manifests itself as self-pity; the plaintive desire of "Range Life" - "if I could settle down/then I would settle down" - comes across as a genuine yearning for an easier life; and in "Shady Lane," when he declares that "I'm an island of such great complexity," you get the sense that he's speaking on a personal level.
"Major Leagues," however, stands out as the clearest statement of sentiment in the Pavement catalogue - at one point, Malkmus even goes so far as to sing "cater to my walls and see if they fall/don't leave me," trying to bury "don't leave me" under the weight of the preceding line in an effort to disguise the desperation those three words contain, but not quite succeeding. When the song first begins, it sounds like a love song, but the dismissive nature of the second line ("relationships, hey, hey, hey," delivered as though they're the least interesting subject in the world) shakes that false sense of security, creating a new state whereby you expect Malkmus's usual lyrical evasiveness. But he can't keep it up, going on to remark of his lover that "you kiss like a rock/but you know I need it anyway," and in the process displaying weakness for everyone to see. "Major Leagues" certainly doesn't detail a conventional love, but it captures perfectly the neediness that is always partially associated with the feeling.
4. The Shins "New Slang"
When considering The Shins for this list, it occurred to me that, as far as "Oh, Inverted World" is concerned, the lyrical content has always been something of a mystery to me. So reading through the booklet, I was delighted to realise that "New Slang" is indeed a song about love - of love lost, more precisely. It's honest and open in the same way "Major Leagues" is - it contains the exact same sense of longing for companionship - but whereas Malkmus is seemingly clinging on to something that he isn't entirely satisfied with, in "New Slang" James Mercer is yearning for the past. The song begins by detailing the naivety involved with the initial stages of becoming intimate with someone new, the line "I was happier then with no mindset," capturing the sense of easy contentment that soon gives way to a process of overthinking everything, a process that is often the death of any burgeoning relationship.
That's exactly what the rest of the song details, and it sees Mercer in a particularly somber mood. He makes the mistake so many of us make, motivated by the same feelings that drive us towards it, revealing that he "never should have called/but my heads to the wall and I'm lonely," knowing that it was the wrong thing to do from the start but going through with it anyway, because it somehow feels right. Ths song makes it clear that whatever he felt for the girl, she didn't share, Mercer singing "if you'd 'a took to me like/a gull takes to the wind," with the key word obviously being 'if.' 'If' she had of done, "the rest of (their) lives would'a fared well." But because she didn't, Mercer is riddled with self-doubt, his feelings of hopelessness best expressed in the line "I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find." He details the feelings associated with the aftermath of any love affair brilliantly, coming across as a man who has completely given up, who sees no future for himself outside of the relationship that he has lost.
5. The Mountain Goats "No Children"
A song I'm completely obsessed with at the moment, even though that can't be seen as a good thing when you consider its lyrical content, with the lines "I hope you die/I hope we both die" being the payoff to each verse of gradually escalating rancour. Has anyone ever captured love gone sour so bitterly as John Darnielle in this song? The narrator hates his ex-wife ("I hope I lie/and tell everyone you were a good wife), his friends (whom he hopes "give up on trying to save us," and if they don't it doesn't matter, because he'll "come up with a fail-safe plot/to piss off the dumb few that forgave us"), and even himself (not only hoping for his own death, but declaring that "I hope I never stay sober"). He's positively embraced the collapse of his marriage - which the title implies has ended because of irreconcilable differences over the issue of children - which may simply be a coping mechanism, or may indeed be the celebration the song sometimes suggests. Either way, when singing "I hope it stays dark forever/I hope the worst isn't over," you believe him.
Monday 8 June 2009
Batman and Robin #1
"This is it. Batman and Robin. Together again for the first time"
It's always a good idea to periodically shake things up with a legacy character, even if such changes often come across as shock tactics. Under the banner heading of 'Batman: Reborn,' DC Comics's big initiative this summer is the repositioning of the Batman universe. With Bruce Wayne "dead" (because actually he's not dead, simply trapped in the past, and he'll return to the present at some point, certainly in time fot the next movie), the three-issue mini-series Battle for the Cowl (which I didn't read, because I'm not THAT interested) explored the fallout from his absence, whilst also setting up Dick Grayson - the original Robin - as the new Batman. Which is the obvious choice, but not necessarily the right one. In a recent episode of The Big Bang Theory ('The Hofstadter Isotope'), a comicbook store owner named Stewart argues that the role should have gone to Jason Todd - the second Robin, who was killed in the line of duty, and brought back from the dead a few years ago - rather than Grayson, who as Nightwing has been a hero in his own right for many years. Todd, on the other hand, has flailed between good and bad ever since his resurrection; had he been the new Batman, we could have been treated to his redemption arc. Instead, the aforementioned Battle for the Cowl set him up as a villain again. Ho hum.
So when wandering into Travelling Man, and realising that the first issue of Batman and Robin was out, I tried to resist buying it. But when you see the names 'Grant Morrison' and 'Frank Quitely' on the front cover of a comicbook book, that's easier said than done, even though Morrison's recent run on Batman wasn't received all that well. It's tempting to say that people didn't get it - which, given the complex nature of his plotting, is at least a partial truth - but, to be honest, it wasn't consistently fantastic. Perhaps his greatest success was the introduction of Bruce Wayne's "evil" son, Damian, a character whom Morrison seems particularly fond of, and who has taken over the role of Robin. His rebellious nature is in full effect throughout this issue - he'd really rather have taken over the role of Batman himself, despite his youth, and tells Grayson that "you can have my respect if you earn it, that's all I'm saying," adding "you're not my father" by way of an insult that is likely to become one of the central themes - the first issue spends time dealing with Grayson's insecurities at having to take over from his mentor and friend, whilst he also attempts to have some fun with the role, as befits Grayson's personality.
As with any first issue, all it really does is set the scene, but Morrison has done so extremely well. The dynamic between Grayson, Damian and Alfred already feels firmly established, and should prove to be a highlight of the book. It reads as a breath of fresh air, a needed change that hopefully DC will persist with for a couple of years - a period of time which would make Wayne's eventual return seem all the more significant. Meanwhile, Quitely's artwork is at its best, full of his usual expressive detail, and a real sense of fun, not least in the couple of splash pages he's given (and who wouldn't enjoy themselves drawing a flying Batmobile?). He perfectly compliments the weirdness that is always to be found in Morrison's writing, infusing the final scene - the introduction of new villain Pyg - with the necessary horror to convey exactly why we're supposed to view him as a threat to be reckoned with. The two belong together - as their definitve work together on New X-Men and All-Star Superman has already proven, and contained within this issue is enough promise to suggest that readers should be preparing themselves for another instant classic. Here's hoping they live up to that.
It's always a good idea to periodically shake things up with a legacy character, even if such changes often come across as shock tactics. Under the banner heading of 'Batman: Reborn,' DC Comics's big initiative this summer is the repositioning of the Batman universe. With Bruce Wayne "dead" (because actually he's not dead, simply trapped in the past, and he'll return to the present at some point, certainly in time fot the next movie), the three-issue mini-series Battle for the Cowl (which I didn't read, because I'm not THAT interested) explored the fallout from his absence, whilst also setting up Dick Grayson - the original Robin - as the new Batman. Which is the obvious choice, but not necessarily the right one. In a recent episode of The Big Bang Theory ('The Hofstadter Isotope'), a comicbook store owner named Stewart argues that the role should have gone to Jason Todd - the second Robin, who was killed in the line of duty, and brought back from the dead a few years ago - rather than Grayson, who as Nightwing has been a hero in his own right for many years. Todd, on the other hand, has flailed between good and bad ever since his resurrection; had he been the new Batman, we could have been treated to his redemption arc. Instead, the aforementioned Battle for the Cowl set him up as a villain again. Ho hum.
So when wandering into Travelling Man, and realising that the first issue of Batman and Robin was out, I tried to resist buying it. But when you see the names 'Grant Morrison' and 'Frank Quitely' on the front cover of a comicbook book, that's easier said than done, even though Morrison's recent run on Batman wasn't received all that well. It's tempting to say that people didn't get it - which, given the complex nature of his plotting, is at least a partial truth - but, to be honest, it wasn't consistently fantastic. Perhaps his greatest success was the introduction of Bruce Wayne's "evil" son, Damian, a character whom Morrison seems particularly fond of, and who has taken over the role of Robin. His rebellious nature is in full effect throughout this issue - he'd really rather have taken over the role of Batman himself, despite his youth, and tells Grayson that "you can have my respect if you earn it, that's all I'm saying," adding "you're not my father" by way of an insult that is likely to become one of the central themes - the first issue spends time dealing with Grayson's insecurities at having to take over from his mentor and friend, whilst he also attempts to have some fun with the role, as befits Grayson's personality.
As with any first issue, all it really does is set the scene, but Morrison has done so extremely well. The dynamic between Grayson, Damian and Alfred already feels firmly established, and should prove to be a highlight of the book. It reads as a breath of fresh air, a needed change that hopefully DC will persist with for a couple of years - a period of time which would make Wayne's eventual return seem all the more significant. Meanwhile, Quitely's artwork is at its best, full of his usual expressive detail, and a real sense of fun, not least in the couple of splash pages he's given (and who wouldn't enjoy themselves drawing a flying Batmobile?). He perfectly compliments the weirdness that is always to be found in Morrison's writing, infusing the final scene - the introduction of new villain Pyg - with the necessary horror to convey exactly why we're supposed to view him as a threat to be reckoned with. The two belong together - as their definitve work together on New X-Men and All-Star Superman has already proven, and contained within this issue is enough promise to suggest that readers should be preparing themselves for another instant classic. Here's hoping they live up to that.
Friday 5 June 2009
Ivan Turgenev, Fathers and Sons
"Of course, you cannot understand me: we belong to two different generations"
It is expected that each new generation will challenge the ideas and the ideals of the generation they succeed - it is, in theory, how society evolves. Ivan Turgenev used Fathers and Sons as a means of exploring generational differences, which proved to be a great source of controversy when the novel was first published in 1862 - it read as an attack on the traditional values of contemporary Russian society. Which it almost certainly was, but its importance has persevered because the theme never grows old - Turgenev offers a timeless message, suggesting that it is the natural function of society to aspire towards progression, and that such a thing requires change inspired by new ways of thinking.
The character who dominates the novel, Yevgeny Vassilyich Bazarov, certainly fits into that template. Proclaiming himself a nihilist, he casts his shadow over proceedings, offering his anti-philosophies at regular intervals, and by his very nature represents challenge, announcing this fact when stating that "in these days the most useful thing we can do is repudiate - and so we repudiate." This 'question everything' mentality is the central theme of the narrative, and whilst his brusque exterior can be extremely trying at times, there is an undoubted intelligence behind each of his proclamations. Bazarov is of the opinion that "all men are similar, in soul as well as in body," an overwhelmingly negative mindset that cuts to the heart of his nihilism - if you can't believe in human beings and their individuality, why believe in anything?
Arkady Petrovich is his friend and disciple, a man so taken with Bazarov that he mimics him as best as he is able, whilst not quite able to take the principles of nihilism fully to heart, leading to various faux pas on his part that make him appear to be something of a simpleton. Trust Bazarov to best summarise Arkady when telling him "you're a soft-hearted mawkish individual...you're timid, you've no confidence in yourself." The pair spend the duration of Fathers and Sons together, and their relationship could almost be described as familial, were there anything of the paternal about Bazarov. Arkady looks up to Bazarov, who responds to such devotion in the dismissive manner with which he treats everything he encounters.
Bazarov's opinionated nature extends to Arkady's father, Nikolai Petrovich, whom he describes as "a good man, but he's old-fashioned, he's had his day." Which is typically blunt, but not particularly unfair. After all, Nikolai is something of a nostalgist, which is indicative of the backwards-looking nature that younger generations typically rally against. At the same time, though, he is desperate to cling on to some semblance of his youth, in order that he might remain close to Arkady - and that he wants to be a friend as much of a father is somewhat troubling in itself - and to this end, he has taken up with a young girl named Fenichka, as though her youth and her innocence might rub off on him. Yet we care about him all the same, because his affection towards his son is genuinely touching, as is his exasperation upon realising how much his son has changed.
"Why should we talk of love?"
The novel takes an interesting diversion from these issues during the middle section, presenting a Midsummer Night's Dream-esque sequence of romantic attachments badly in need of correction by a Puck figure: Madame Anna Odinstov manages to capture the heart of both Bazarov and Arkady; Arkady would be better served investing his feelings in Katya, Anna's younger sister, who clearly carries a torch for him; and Anna feels nothing for Arkady but is clearly drawn to Bazarov. Away from the realms of Shakespearean fantasy, it is unsurprising that this passage doesn't provide an entirely happy ending, but it does have some fantastic exchanges between Anna and Bazarov who, despite his best efforts, cannot help but fall for her, declaring with a passion bordering on obsession "that I love you idiotically, madly." We soften to him a little at this point, because we see the humanity that lies beneath the exterior self he projects - he is clearly not immune to the power of love, and becomes more relatable for exactly those reasons. Later, he reveals to Fenichka the weight of his loneliness: "if only I could find someone to take pity on me." At this point, it becomes obvious that the self-confidence he seems to exude is at least partially a facade. But then when we see his interactions with his family, our attitude shifts again - he comes across very badly, meeting their delight at seeing him for the first time in three years with his trademark condescension, in the process appearing to be a man without sentiment, especially when dismissing them on the grounds that he has nothing much to say to them.
"Aristocratism, liberalism, progress, principles - think of it, what a lot of foreign and useless words! To a Russian they're not worth a straw"
Turgenev had an axe to grind with the Russian ruling classes - and indeed anyone in a position of authority - and uses parts of the novel to do so, finding humour in the ridiculous contradictions and hypocrisy inherent within the system. Consequently, a governor is described as "a man who, as is often the case in Russia, was at once progressive and despotic;" a superintendent of the Provincial Treasury, meanwhile, coins the phrase "every wee busy bee takes a wee bribe from every wee flower" as a quaint way of justifying his corruption. It's moments like these that give credence to Bazarov's declaration that "we should not accept any species of authority."
Despite the message contained within the text, it never really feels like you're being lectured to, which is always a danger. Turgenev puts his point across by crafting characters who are both complex and believable, and creating an engaging narrative, meaning that the point of the novel is taken on board without any risk of the reader resenting its insistence. The ending stays true to that which preceded it, and is touched with a sense of melancholy even though the plots resolve themselves in the expected manner. For Arkady, there is contentment to be found in his acceptance that he isn't a nihilist after all; he is much more cut in the mould of his father. For Bazarov, there is the only fate a man of his nature could possibly expect. The character stands out as one of the greatest literary creations of the nineteenth century, a man whose presence illuminates every page he appears on.
It is expected that each new generation will challenge the ideas and the ideals of the generation they succeed - it is, in theory, how society evolves. Ivan Turgenev used Fathers and Sons as a means of exploring generational differences, which proved to be a great source of controversy when the novel was first published in 1862 - it read as an attack on the traditional values of contemporary Russian society. Which it almost certainly was, but its importance has persevered because the theme never grows old - Turgenev offers a timeless message, suggesting that it is the natural function of society to aspire towards progression, and that such a thing requires change inspired by new ways of thinking.
The character who dominates the novel, Yevgeny Vassilyich Bazarov, certainly fits into that template. Proclaiming himself a nihilist, he casts his shadow over proceedings, offering his anti-philosophies at regular intervals, and by his very nature represents challenge, announcing this fact when stating that "in these days the most useful thing we can do is repudiate - and so we repudiate." This 'question everything' mentality is the central theme of the narrative, and whilst his brusque exterior can be extremely trying at times, there is an undoubted intelligence behind each of his proclamations. Bazarov is of the opinion that "all men are similar, in soul as well as in body," an overwhelmingly negative mindset that cuts to the heart of his nihilism - if you can't believe in human beings and their individuality, why believe in anything?
Arkady Petrovich is his friend and disciple, a man so taken with Bazarov that he mimics him as best as he is able, whilst not quite able to take the principles of nihilism fully to heart, leading to various faux pas on his part that make him appear to be something of a simpleton. Trust Bazarov to best summarise Arkady when telling him "you're a soft-hearted mawkish individual...you're timid, you've no confidence in yourself." The pair spend the duration of Fathers and Sons together, and their relationship could almost be described as familial, were there anything of the paternal about Bazarov. Arkady looks up to Bazarov, who responds to such devotion in the dismissive manner with which he treats everything he encounters.
Bazarov's opinionated nature extends to Arkady's father, Nikolai Petrovich, whom he describes as "a good man, but he's old-fashioned, he's had his day." Which is typically blunt, but not particularly unfair. After all, Nikolai is something of a nostalgist, which is indicative of the backwards-looking nature that younger generations typically rally against. At the same time, though, he is desperate to cling on to some semblance of his youth, in order that he might remain close to Arkady - and that he wants to be a friend as much of a father is somewhat troubling in itself - and to this end, he has taken up with a young girl named Fenichka, as though her youth and her innocence might rub off on him. Yet we care about him all the same, because his affection towards his son is genuinely touching, as is his exasperation upon realising how much his son has changed.
"Why should we talk of love?"
The novel takes an interesting diversion from these issues during the middle section, presenting a Midsummer Night's Dream-esque sequence of romantic attachments badly in need of correction by a Puck figure: Madame Anna Odinstov manages to capture the heart of both Bazarov and Arkady; Arkady would be better served investing his feelings in Katya, Anna's younger sister, who clearly carries a torch for him; and Anna feels nothing for Arkady but is clearly drawn to Bazarov. Away from the realms of Shakespearean fantasy, it is unsurprising that this passage doesn't provide an entirely happy ending, but it does have some fantastic exchanges between Anna and Bazarov who, despite his best efforts, cannot help but fall for her, declaring with a passion bordering on obsession "that I love you idiotically, madly." We soften to him a little at this point, because we see the humanity that lies beneath the exterior self he projects - he is clearly not immune to the power of love, and becomes more relatable for exactly those reasons. Later, he reveals to Fenichka the weight of his loneliness: "if only I could find someone to take pity on me." At this point, it becomes obvious that the self-confidence he seems to exude is at least partially a facade. But then when we see his interactions with his family, our attitude shifts again - he comes across very badly, meeting their delight at seeing him for the first time in three years with his trademark condescension, in the process appearing to be a man without sentiment, especially when dismissing them on the grounds that he has nothing much to say to them.
"Aristocratism, liberalism, progress, principles - think of it, what a lot of foreign and useless words! To a Russian they're not worth a straw"
Turgenev had an axe to grind with the Russian ruling classes - and indeed anyone in a position of authority - and uses parts of the novel to do so, finding humour in the ridiculous contradictions and hypocrisy inherent within the system. Consequently, a governor is described as "a man who, as is often the case in Russia, was at once progressive and despotic;" a superintendent of the Provincial Treasury, meanwhile, coins the phrase "every wee busy bee takes a wee bribe from every wee flower" as a quaint way of justifying his corruption. It's moments like these that give credence to Bazarov's declaration that "we should not accept any species of authority."
Despite the message contained within the text, it never really feels like you're being lectured to, which is always a danger. Turgenev puts his point across by crafting characters who are both complex and believable, and creating an engaging narrative, meaning that the point of the novel is taken on board without any risk of the reader resenting its insistence. The ending stays true to that which preceded it, and is touched with a sense of melancholy even though the plots resolve themselves in the expected manner. For Arkady, there is contentment to be found in his acceptance that he isn't a nihilist after all; he is much more cut in the mould of his father. For Bazarov, there is the only fate a man of his nature could possibly expect. The character stands out as one of the greatest literary creations of the nineteenth century, a man whose presence illuminates every page he appears on.
Wednesday 3 June 2009
The Walking Dead #51-61
After the massive drama - and upheaval - of the previous story arc, the pace has (mostly) slowed down a bit, spending time concentrating on the human interactions that have always been the strong point of The Walking Dead. To my mind, the title has suffered when writer Robert Kirkman has been in 'event' mode - I'll always argue that the Governor was a poor choice of character to bring into the story, being too much of a comicbook villain to have any place in the believable world that he has created. So the way these last ten issues have unfolded has been particularly satisfying, with the focus squarely on the quieter character moments which have earned the book such a dedicated following.
Having drastically reduced the number of living cast members, issues #51-53 are spent regrouping those who are still alive, whilst also introducing a handful of new characters. Of these, Sergeant Abraham Ford is of the greatest interest, with Kirkman having developed him into one of the more compelling figures. Initially coming across as as a generic no-nonsense tough guy, the last handful of issues have displayed him in a different light. The ending of #57 shows him at his weakest, and most human, leading into his explanation of the events that hardened him so comprehensively in #58, at the same time highlighting the parallels between Abraham and Rick, making it obvious that the previous tension between the two was down to their similar natures. Both are leaders, willing to do whatever they need to do in order to survive and to protect those they care about - no matter how extreme their actions may appear. As Rick puts it, "we do terrible things for the ones we love."
Of the other new characters, Doctor Eugene Porter and Rosita Espinosa haven't been given a great deal to do, yet still have enough about them to suggest that they'll be good additions. Father Gabriel Stokes debuted in #61, and his chosen vocation should play interestingly within this world - what place does religion have in the Walking Dead landscape? And we're reintroduced to Morgan, who finally looks set to become a permanent fixture. He hasn't fared too well in the aftermath of his son being turned - his mental state is clearly fragile, and not everyone is happy to have him around.
Mental fragility has become a recurring theme throughout the book - there are several characters who seem to be on the verge of cracking up, creating a sense of uncertainty that is affecting relations between the characters. 'Fearless reader' Rick hasn't escaped from such a criticism - between his telephone conversations with his dead wife Lori and his own self-doubt as to whether or not he was responsible for her death, his suitability to lead the group has been called into question, by himself and by several others. Dale in particular is turning against him, asking "how often does he put us in danger? It seems like it's happening more and more often," which isn't quite as unreasonable as it may seem - under his leadership, they have endured a great deal of tragedy; perhaps poor decision-making on Rick's part has been a factor. Rick's interactions with his son have also changed - he is frequently lecturing Carl on the full horror of their situation; hardening the boy to an extent that becomes painfully apparent during #61.
Ultimately, the title has gone back to what it does best, focussing on the characters rather than on any particular drama. The tension is ever-present anyway, which means it isn't necessary to ramp it up with artificial plot developments. The solicitations for the upcoming story arc have me a little worried - images of soldier-types hunting the group seem a little close to what we've already seen before. That being said, these last ten issues have really given the book a greater sense of purpose - they have a goal now, and I look forward to seeing the obstacles they have to face in order to achieve it.
Having drastically reduced the number of living cast members, issues #51-53 are spent regrouping those who are still alive, whilst also introducing a handful of new characters. Of these, Sergeant Abraham Ford is of the greatest interest, with Kirkman having developed him into one of the more compelling figures. Initially coming across as as a generic no-nonsense tough guy, the last handful of issues have displayed him in a different light. The ending of #57 shows him at his weakest, and most human, leading into his explanation of the events that hardened him so comprehensively in #58, at the same time highlighting the parallels between Abraham and Rick, making it obvious that the previous tension between the two was down to their similar natures. Both are leaders, willing to do whatever they need to do in order to survive and to protect those they care about - no matter how extreme their actions may appear. As Rick puts it, "we do terrible things for the ones we love."
Of the other new characters, Doctor Eugene Porter and Rosita Espinosa haven't been given a great deal to do, yet still have enough about them to suggest that they'll be good additions. Father Gabriel Stokes debuted in #61, and his chosen vocation should play interestingly within this world - what place does religion have in the Walking Dead landscape? And we're reintroduced to Morgan, who finally looks set to become a permanent fixture. He hasn't fared too well in the aftermath of his son being turned - his mental state is clearly fragile, and not everyone is happy to have him around.
Mental fragility has become a recurring theme throughout the book - there are several characters who seem to be on the verge of cracking up, creating a sense of uncertainty that is affecting relations between the characters. 'Fearless reader' Rick hasn't escaped from such a criticism - between his telephone conversations with his dead wife Lori and his own self-doubt as to whether or not he was responsible for her death, his suitability to lead the group has been called into question, by himself and by several others. Dale in particular is turning against him, asking "how often does he put us in danger? It seems like it's happening more and more often," which isn't quite as unreasonable as it may seem - under his leadership, they have endured a great deal of tragedy; perhaps poor decision-making on Rick's part has been a factor. Rick's interactions with his son have also changed - he is frequently lecturing Carl on the full horror of their situation; hardening the boy to an extent that becomes painfully apparent during #61.
Ultimately, the title has gone back to what it does best, focussing on the characters rather than on any particular drama. The tension is ever-present anyway, which means it isn't necessary to ramp it up with artificial plot developments. The solicitations for the upcoming story arc have me a little worried - images of soldier-types hunting the group seem a little close to what we've already seen before. That being said, these last ten issues have really given the book a greater sense of purpose - they have a goal now, and I look forward to seeing the obstacles they have to face in order to achieve it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)