On Meeting Muldoon & Toibin

Posted on February 24, 2010 by Ron Rutstein

I recently read an essay which talked about the dangers of bloggers getting to know the writers and artists they blog about. The idea seemed to be that if one got to know the writers and became friendly with them that one would be more kind than otherwise. However, the lines between criticism and the artist were always blurred. It was often common for an author to be a critic as well, and that is still the case. Yeats for example wrote critical essays, as did Stevenson, as do DeLillo and Toibin today. There are others who make a career of criticism, and it would be absurd to assume that they never came into contact with writers. The honest critic always strives to be fair-minded whether or not he/she knows the artist. Sometimes one’s judgment may be clouded, and if that be the case, and you can maintain awareness of it, then the critic should not write about that person’s work. In my own case, since my goal is to steer people toward what I find worthwhile, if I choose to critique the work of an author that I consider a friend is because I find that artist’s work worthwhile. If I did not, I would simply not write about it, as there are more than enough people who feel free to do so, I will let them, while continuing to stick to the things I find interesting.

The reason the subject comes up is because I recently had the pleasure of meeting and having dinner with two authors whose work I quite admire: Colm Toibin and Paul Muldoon. I had gone down to Princeton to listen to a lecture on Yeats by James Pethica. It was an interesting lecture sponsored by Princeton’s Department of Irish Studies which is administered by Paul Muldoon. After the lecture James introduced me to Toibin and Muldoon. As soon as Paul Muldoon found out how far we had driven to hear the lecture he immediately invited Jen and myself to dinner with them, not even offering us the possibility of saying no, and making us feel comfortable and welcome in the group.

Colm Toibin is a delightful outgoing person with seemingly boundless energy, an excellent sense of humor, and one of the most expressive faces I have ever seen. Paul Muldoon has a round face topped by a field of hair which seems to take off in every direction all at once; and one has the impression that Muldoon’s mind is doing the same. He has a kind of cherubic presence that seems take in every detail. Here the interesting thing is that Muldoon tended to fit the impression that I had from reading his Oxford lectures, while Toibin did not match what I expected of the author of The Master.

Paul Muldoon is unquestionably one of the great Irish poets of the turn-of-the-century. He does not need me to verify this has so many have already made this plain. I enjoy his poetry as I do that of Seamus Heaney and Michael Longley. There is an excellent volume of collected poetry by Muldoon that covers a large body of his work, and I highly recommend it to anyone who is unfamiliar with Muldoon’s work. Reading his poetry you’ll come away with an understanding of his sense of beauty, emotion, and understanding. However, if you wish to understand the true dexterity of his mind it is necessary to read The End of the Poem, which is a volume of his collected Oxford lectures. In these lectures he starts with the poem and follows it through its connections to other poems and poets, real or imagined, conscious or unconscious. Through his mental wanderings Muldoon takes us on a journey that introduces us language as a tool of the poet, and Muldoon analyzes it and takes us on a journey to the meaning of those words, that is, the end of the poem.

For more about Toibin and his work check back here later.

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The Kindly Ones, by Jonathan Littell

Posted on January 11, 2010 by Ron Rutstein

The Kindly Ones, the title of the novel, refers to the Greek goddesses of justice and vengeance. The story in some ways parallels the Greek story of Orestes, but this is not a Greek tragedy, it is a human one, born of the 20th century. In Greek tragedy one looks for the fatal flaw of the character which will lead to his inevitable downfall. But Dr. Maximilian Aue, like most of us, has more than one flaw. Dr. Aue is human caught in human times. His faults are common human faults, fear, ambition, desire for love. In a calmer world or a calmer time Dr. Aue could have led a normal life, but he lived in Nazi Germany, a time when moral strength could easily have led to death; his weaknesses, human weaknesses, kept him alive and made him a participant in the events of the time.

Littell’s novel is a long sometimes harrowing read. It is not the type of book one should read if one carries the novels one is reading into their dreams, as this book can only cause nightmares. In the opening chapter, which takes place close to the present time, Dr. Aue states that part of the problem of our understanding of those horrific times, is that we monsterize the perpetrators and see only the victims as human. But Aue argues that the perpetrators were equally human, that what happened was entirely done by humans to humans. There are so many novels that have come out of World War II and the Holocaust that it seems hard to justify another. But this novel is important, not because it relives well-known events, but because it vividly portrays how a regular person can be drawn into such evil. The world we live in sees too much in black and white, in the privileged world in which we live we don’t have to make decisions like he did. We too easily say what was done was wrong, and indeed it was, but we don’t truly know how we would react if we were in the same circumstances, and that, more than anything else is what Littell is trying to get us to understand. This seems to be the type of book that you either love or hate. I have read good reviews of it, and I read the reviews of people who hate it. It was a bestseller in France where first came out, but Barnes & Noble didn’t even carry it, and if you look for on their website isn’t there. I found it completely by accident while browsing a small independent bookstore in Millerton New York. If you decide to read it you can find it online through Amazon but I would encourage ordering it through a local independent.

Jonathan Littell is an American who was raised and educated mostly in France as it says on the dust jacket. He has worked for humanitarian agencies which him for brought him to places of conflict and he has seen the effects of war and genocide. He understands that we cannot deal with what we are unwilling to accept. We too easily say I would never do that, we too easily condemn without understanding, and while condemnation is necessary so to is understanding. With that in mind Dr. Aue tells his story completely, from beginning to end, with no holds barred. Littell is trying to force us to face the fact that the decisions made by Dr. Aue might too have been made by us. It is the cumulative effect of many small decisions that lead Dr. Aue down his path. In the end we must still condemn him, but we also begin to understand him.

Dr. Aue is an educated man, he has a degree in law, is well read in the classics of literature, and in philosophy. He is an intellectual National Socialist; he believed in the cause of his party, in the unification of the German people, and the need for expansion. He is also a homosexual. One night when he is arrested in an area known for homosexuals to congregate he is offered a way out by a friend. This friend offered him a position working for him in the SS. It is a position where he is an observer and analyst. He collects data, offers observations, and draws conclusions. It is an easy choice for him to make, but it is only a first step down a path that Germany is leading its people.

A number of the reviews that I’ve read of this work compare it closely with War and Peace, however, the proper Russian novel to compare it to would be Crime and Punishment. This famous work by Dostoyevsky focuses mostly upon the single character of Raskolnikov; and Littell’s novel focuses entirely on Dr. Aue. The Kindly Ones is a psychological novel in the same sense as Crime and Punishment. However, while Raskolnikov’s issues are eventually resolved Dr. Aue’s spiritual crisis is of a different nature, and his fear of being caught stays with him for the remainder of his life, until finally enough time has passed he feels free enough to tell his tale as not as a justification or rationalization, but rather as an accusation, challenging the reader—would you have acted any differently?

Shortly after the war with Russia begins Dr. Aue finds himself in the middle of the Aktion, that is the beginning of the extermination of the Jews. In observing the men who were ordered to carry out the killings he noticed several different types of soldiers: those who refused, those who enjoyed it, those who managed to get through carrying it out, and those who by carrying out went insane. Dr. Aue finds himself occasionally having to carry out some executions, and while in the short term he seems able to deal with it, in the long term he finds himself physically and psychologically breaking down. As a new commanding officer is brought in he recognizes that the state of several of the officers under his command is clearly unsound and Dr. Aue finds himself transferred to a facility where he is able to somewhat recover.

“From the very beginning, things weren’t as I would have liked them: I had resigned myself to that a long time ago (yet at the same time, it seems to me, I never accepted things as they are, so wrong and so bad; at the most I finally came to acknowledge my powerlessness to change them). It is also true that I have changed. When I was young, I felt transparent with lucidity, I had precise ideas about the world, about what it should be and what it actually was, and about my own place in that world; and with all the madness and the arrogance of youth, I had thought it would always be so; but the attitude induced by my analysis would never change; but I had forgotten, or rather I did not yet know, the force of time, of time and fatigue. And even more than my indecision, my ideological confusion, my inability to take clear positions on the questions I was dealing with, and to hold it, it was this that was wearing me down, taking the ground away from under my feet. Such a fatigue has no end, only death can put an end to it, it still lasts today, and for me it will always last.”

This novel carries many allusions to Greek literature, and like a story in a Greek tragedy, we know the outcome, and the outcome is not nearly so important as how we get there. One reviewer claimed that Dr. Aue’s homosexuality was due to his unfulfilled love for his sister; I find this a rather simplistic view as it completely ignores the parts of the book dedicated to Dr. Aue’s youth and education, and what he had to endure that time, as well as his own nature and tendencies. Whether or not Aue would have been homosexual had he had a different childhood are irrelevant. It is part of who he is, and in part shapes his story.

Toward the end of the book Dr. Aue finds himself alone in the Villa belonging to his brother-in-law and sister. His insanity at this point has completely overcome him and he destroys the inside of the Villa in a rather disgusting manner. And while some reviewers read this as an excuse for Littell to entertain a disgusting type of exhibitionism, again I find that a simplistic view. You can argue that Littell carried it to an extreme and may have drawn it out longer than is necessary, but to deny that there is any meaning in this part of the novel is to deny the role that culture plays in the story itself. Dr. Aue is an educated and cultured individual, and for him to carry out the destruction that he does represents not only his own emotional turmoil and insanity but the insanity wreaked all over Europe by National Socialism; thus Dr. Aue’s unhealthy relationship with his sister and brother-in-law can represent what became of German culture and the relation of Germany and the rest of European culture during the second world war.

It is impossible for a single review to even begin to cover this novel with anything approaching completeness. It is almost 1000 pages long, and is very dense reading. There is little doubt in my mind that at some point in the future scholars will dedicate themselves to completely studying this work. I will also recommend that this book that this book be regularly taught at the college level in order to help knock young people out of their complacency and black and white thinking. “There was a lot of talk, after the war, in trying to explain what had happened, about inhumanity. But I am sorry, there is no such thing as inhumanity. There is only humanity and more humanity….”

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Upcoming Posts 1/8/10

Posted on January 8, 2010 by Ron Rutstein

Just a quick post to let everyone know that there are more posts coming from my holiday reading. I will cover The Kindly Ones, by Jonathan Littell, a great book, but not for everyone; and the Russian WWII classic Life and Fate, by Vasily Grossman. I have recently read Sons and Lovers, by D.H. Lawrence, and think it is probably the best book to read when first approaching Lawrence’s fiction, but I find no reason to cover it here, as it has been around and written about for so long, and it is still an often read book outside of college classrooms. I also picked up Li-Young Lee’s first two books of poetry and can’t wait to dive into them, as well as a copy of Paul Muldoon’s Moy Sand and Gravel.

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The Master and Margarita; by Mikhail Bulgakov

Posted on January 7, 2010 by Ron Rutstein

The Master and Margarita is a comic novel by Mikhail Bulgakov. It is a farce on the story of Faust which I would give about 3 1/2 out of five stars. The novel works on many levels but fails on several others. I heard several people categorize this novel as a difficult read, but I did not find the reading of it difficult at all. Although, had I been trying to catalog all the literary allusions it would’ve been quite a task, but one which I’m not sure in the end would’ve been worth it. The story takes place in Moscow, in the 1930s were the devil shows up to hold a Midnight Ball. The idea of Satan showing up in the city which professes no belief in either him or God seemingly lends itself to a nice bit of comedy, however, in the end I found the humor insufficient and overplayed but found value in the secondary story, which, within the novel, is being written by the Master. The Master’s tale is the story of Pontius Pilate on the night of the execution of Jesus Christ. Pilate’s story is intertwined with the story of the havoc wreaked by Satan and his minions in Moscow as they prepare for the ball. Margarita, deeply in love with the Master, agrees to be the queen of the ball in order to find her love, who has been institutionalized in an asylum which is slowly being filled by victims of Satan’s pranks.

One of the problems I have with the novel is that Satan is more of a prankster than a devil. He appears on stage as a magician as one of his minions performs various acts of diabolical magic which cannot be explained and which leave half the audience prancing around in their underwear once the show is concluded. The use of constant phrases such as “who the hell knows” or “the devil knows,” would be humorous if used occasionally, however, they often appear several times within a few pages, and I found myself quickly growing tired of them. The constant pranks taking place in Moscow began to remind me of Harry Potter. But at those times when the novel turns serious, I found myself drawn back into the story. There are three stories playing themselves out in novel, the love between the Master and Margarita, the story of Pontius Pilate as told by the Master, and the story of Satan visiting the city of Moscow. In the end the three stories are tied together and the unity is achieved; Pontius Pilate is forgiven, the Master and Margarita are granted peace and the ability to stay together, and Satan rides off into the sunset. But it is the first two stories within the novel that make it worthwhile. Thus, for me, the comic part of the novel was lacking and uncompelling, but unfortunately necessary as the three stories intertwine and make one.

The novel is short enough, a little over 300 pages, and if one is looking for a diversionary read you might find it enjoyable. However, I wouldn’t place it high on my must-read shelf of books, and if one is looking for serious work of 20th century Russian literature there are better places to start, perhaps with Babi Yar or with Life and Fate. I should state for the record however, that I seem to be very critical with literature that is meant to be humorous. Of that genre I found Tom Jones the most satisfying and feel that at some point I must return to Tristram Shandy and give it a second chance.

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Nikos Kazantzakis: The Human and the Divine

Posted on January 7, 2010 by Ron Rutstein

One of the advantages of traveling long distances to visit family over the holidays is extended stays in airports, and on airplanes, with absolutely nothing to do. To me having nothing to do means having time to read, and reading time is something I never willingly pass up. This past holiday season I found time to read in airports from Albany, New York, to Chicago, to Tucson, Arizona. No one in my immediate family has been bitten by the reading bug as severely as I have, however they all tolerate me sitting around with book in hand and periodically paying no attention to them whatsoever. It is not so much that I’m trying to ignore them or separate myself from them, but rather that I get caught up in a world in which they don’t exist, and in which I exist only as an observer. Over this past holiday season I finished four books, and will eventually discuss all of them but I will not pass up the opportunity to begin with one of my favorite authors, Nikos Kazantzakis.
Nikos Kazantzakis is the greatest of the 20th century Greek writers, best known for his work Zorba the Greek, and is profoundly interested in the passions and emotions of human beings and how they relate spiritually to each other and to God. Kazantzakis writes about such great spiritual leaders and St. Francis and Christ, but when he writes about them, and their spiritual experiences and teachings, he understands them first as human beings rather than as spiritual beings, and he understands their spirituality as coming from their humanity, and the crises they face must be understood from a human perspective; because it is only from the human perspective that we can truly begin to understand them.

I first read Kazantzakis novel St. Francis about 10 years ago, and it was through this novel that I was able to understand Francis’s relationship to God and to the world around him. St. Francis’s spiritual search became something I could relate to and understand, and possibly even emulate to some extent. Here was a human being living a life he could no longer accept and taking action to change not only himself but hopefully those around him. It is also a novel about the development of a spiritual community dedicated to the service of others and service of God. I highly recommend this novel for anyone who is interested in spirituality, St. Francis, or the works of Kazantzakis.

The novel The Greek Passion is about a Greek village preparing to put on an Easter passion play. As the roles are handed out amongst the villagers everyone has a different role which they wish to play, and no one wishes to take on the role of Judas. However, once the roles are assigned, each individual begins to take on characteristics of the roles they are assigned. Their lives are changed in unforeseen ways as they begin to interact with each other based not so much on who they are, but on who they will be playing in the Passion. Eventually, as the story unfolds, the passion plays itself out in the community, as history repeats itself in the life of the village.

The Kazantzakis novel that I read over the holidays is the Last Temptation of Christ. Here too as Kazantzakis tells the story of a carpenter who become a spiritual leader, he is interested in how the human Christ accepts and takes on the role of teacher, prophet, Messiah. The two main characters of the novel are Christ and Judas. Christ is a teacher of peace, love, forgiveness; Judas is a man in search of a military Messiah, one who will lead Israel out from under the yoke of the Roman Empire. The human Christ knows and understands the role he is destined to play, and clearly foresees the pain and suffering that he will go through, and, understanding that, the temptation he feels is to avoid it. He understands the weaknesses of his followers and how in the end their own fears will lead them at least temporarily away from his side. From the beginning Christ senses the strength of Judas as a man of action and keeps him at his side. When Judas first meets up with Christ he finds his message of peace and love offensive; he even finds this message dangerous to his own goal of ridding Israel of the Romans. He decides to follow Christ and if necessary kill him to prevent his message from spreading. In the beginning of their journeys he vacillates between wanting to kill Christ and wanting to understand what he is teaching; and in the end he decides that Christ’s teachings are what will ultimately free mankind. As the time for the passion draws near Jesus tells Judas that he must betray him. But Judas has come to love Jesus and begs him saying there must be another way. Christ tells him not to worry that he will rise again in three days. Judas tells Jesus that he will not have the strength to endure, but Jesus tells him that he does have the strength. Judas, bowing his head says, “if you had to betray your master would you do it?” And Jesus replies “No, I do not think I would be able to. That is why God took pity me and gave me the easier task: to be crucified.” The humanity and passions in these two men, who have come to love and understand each other, give each the strength to do what must be done; Jesus to face the cross, and Judas to go down in history as a betrayer of man and God.

As we are now a decade into the 21st century I fear that the works of Nikos Kazantzakis may get left behind, that he will be remembered as the author of Zorba the Greek. But the richness of his novels and his understanding of human nature will hopefully lead to a new generation of readers. His stories are timeless and powerful, designed to lead us to an understanding of ourselves and the passions that drive us. We, as readers, fully understand the emotional needs, hopes and fears that drive his characters. Even the motivations of minor characters are laid before us, for how else can we understand what is taking place. His books are filled with real people, people we could recognize as friends, neighbors, acquaintances: or even ourselves. His characters are never bland or dull, that type of person Kazantzakis would not understand, he himself was a man filled with passion and a lust for life. Elie Wiesel writes of Kazantzakis; “The great writer carried me into an enchanted universe in which man pursues with equal stubbornness his battle with himself and with God.”

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Bunches of Novels About Books?

Posted on December 17, 2009 by Ron Rutstein

It seems there is a large body of contemporary literature, some good , some not, which is set in a background of the literary arts: a missing Melville manuscript–The Secret of Lost Things,–letters from T.S. Eliot–The Archivist–a play on The Three Musketeers and ancient satanic manuscripts–The Club Dumas–old books, libraries and vampires–The Historian(throw in vampires and it seems you have an instant bestseller)–a novelized life of Henry James–The Master.

Of those listed above Colm Toibin’s The Master is by far the best. Tobin’s novel is written in an almost restrained style, which is very appropriate when writing about James; but I want to save him for a longer blog dedicated to more of his work. This is an appealing work even if you are not much of a fan of James. If you have tried James and not liked him, and, after reading this book, find he might be worth a second look, start with his earlier work as his later novels get more and more grammatically difficult to read, and require a great deal of concentration.

The Archivist is also a book I can recommend . By Martha Cooley it is the story of a library archivist who has the responsibility of looking after a series of letters written by T.S. Eliot, which are not to be opened and read for years they lay in storage. A college graduate student decides she needs to see what the letters contain. An enjoyable battle of wits takes place between Matthias, the archivist, and Roberta, the grad student. As the give and take between the two gathers strength Matthias is confronted with the problems of his marriage and now deceased wife, the similarities between his life and that of Eliot’s, and tries to find the wisdom to guide a young student through the maze of Eliot’s wishes for the letters and that of the bequest, the responsibility of the University to follow the bequest, thus preventing Roberta from completing her research. As Matthias comes to a fuller understanding of what happened to his wife, and himself, he comes to a better understanding of Eliot. Mathias must decide which of the conflicting interests he will follow regarding the enigmatic letters.
The strength of this novel is that it goes way beyond the simple description, to a true emotional depth, an understanding of love in a relationship where mental illness is a component, and one can never find a “right” answer for dealing with issues where agreement and common ground could not be found, in a time when our understanding of such problems was immature at best. Cooley deals beautifully with a very complex issue as she juxtaposes Eliot’s history with Matthias’s. Through Matthias’s emotional turmoil we understand that the issues are not as clear as they seem, and that reading about mental illness is not the same as living through it and not being able to understand it.

The Secret of Lost Things is a coming of age novel, set in a bookstore that is essentially The Strand, in NY. A young woman from Australia moves to NY and gets caught up in intrigue surrounding a lost Melville manuscript. I thought this was a pretty good book, not great. But as it is a coming of age story about a young woman, and I am a late-middle-aged man I am probably not the best judge of the merits of the book, so anyone who has read it please use the comments to pass on your thoughts.

The Dumas Club was a disappointment. Arturo Perez-Reverte had com highly recommended, so I was anticipating an excellent read, what I found was a poorly plotted thriller. Don’t bother.

The Historian was a fun read. I usually don’t go in for vampire novels, but the book intrigued me because of the setting and premise. This is a good light read. The story flows rapidly, so if you like books and old libraries and things of that sort and don’t mind a vampire in the midst you will have a bit of fun. Do not expect any kind of a serious read here.

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Behind My Eyes, by Li-Young Lee

Posted on November 22, 2009 by Ron Rutstein

Behind My Eyes is the new collection of poems by Li-Young Lee. If one has read any of his previous work they are expecting spare, beautiful, lyric poetry, and that reader will not be disappointed. I recently discovered Lee while browsing the poetry section of a local book store. I picked up his Book Of My Nights and read a few poems and decided the book was worth buying. One of the nice things about poetry is that you are able to get the general feel of a book from a few poems and decide whether or not to take a chance. It was well worth they money spent, especially as there are poems I have already read several times.

On a recent drive through Southern Vermont we stopped at Bartleby’s Books in Wilmington and I discovered a copy of his latest collection, Behind My Eyes, which I bought without hesitation. I have yet to read his earlier works, though they are on my to do list.

…His Body throws two shadows:
One onto the table
and the piece of paper before him,
and one onto his mind.

One makes it difficult for him to see
the words he’s written and crossed out
on the paper. The other
keeps him from recognizing
another master than Death. He squints.
He reads: Does the first light hide
inside the first dark?

He reads: While all bodies share
the same fate, all voices do not.
from: In His Own Shadow

The voice here echoes his earlier work in Book Of My Nights, but his voice is more diverse in this new collection, with greater breadth, and, as the quote above might indicate, greater awareness of his own importance as a voice in contemporary poetry. Lee’s voice is soft spoken and spiritual, beautiful and profound, spare and deep, intensely personal and intensely universal. These are poems of pain, of love, of loss, of dialogue, of experience, of family; and behind it all a sense of profound wisdom, like an orchid where each blossom is unique yet each a part of the whole plant, opening successively upon a quivering branch.

To see what Lilia Pilia says about Li-Young Lee click here, and what Ivan Granger has to say here. Here is an article on Behind My Eyes from when it first came out last year.

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Freud’s Last Session, by Mark St. Germain

Posted on November 13, 2009 by Ron Rutstein

IMG_0053_0001The Barrington Stage Company’s production of Freud’s Last Session was consistently sold out over the summer; consequently I was unable to attend when I wanted to. Luckily for me it was brought back, and I was able to see it on its second to last performance. The play is funny, interesting, and, in general, an enjoyable night at the theater. The premise is that shortly before his death Sigmund Freud, noted atheist, met with C. S. Lewis, noted Christian, and discussed, among other things, the existence of God. The play makes no attempt to answer this question that has dogged mankind for ages, but juxtaposes the two positions as premise for a conversation between two historical figures of interest, placing them in time at the beginning of WWII; a time when questions of God became almost irrelevant as mankind once again turned toward horror and violence, and away from either God or Sanity.

They dying Sigmund Freud was admirably played by Martin Rayner, and the nervous C.S. Lewis convincingly played by Mark H. Dold. I know nothing of the person of Lewis, so I must assume he was portrayed true to form, as, I felt, Freud was. Both characters were sympathetic, and neither gave ground. The discussion takes place with the interruptions of Chamberlain’s speeches on radio, air raid sirens, BBC announcers, phone calls from Freud’s daughter, gas masks, etc…. The scene is Freud’s office complete with couch and chair, and was effectively laid out to facilitate the dance that the two seemed, at times, to be doing; the movement about the stage, hopefully meant to represent the dance of their respective positions, did seem a bit much.

At first Lewis is deferential to his senior, but during the play a bond seems to form, not based on either convincing the other, but rather upon the open honesty they share. Lewis is filled with sympathy for the suffering the cancerous Freud is going through. Freud, for his part, is truly astonished that an intelligent man like Lewis, who once shared his views, could become a devout Christian; he views faith as merely intellectual weakness, something to console the masses.

I agree with Ralph Hammann that Freud’s views are simplified, probably Lewis’s as well. But I think that was necessary; how many people would pay to see an hour and a half of Civilization and its Discontents? or, The Future of an Illusion? Mr. St. Germain succeeds in giving us a script that is interesting and keeps the audience involved emotionally and intellectually. All in all I would recommend this play as one to see if it comes your way.

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Toward a definintion of Quoggy

Posted on November 3, 2009 by Ron Rutstein

“It is well known that at the coronation of kings and queens, even modern ones, a certain curious process of seasoning them for their functions is gone through. There is a saltcellar of state, so called, and there may be a caster of state. How they use the salt, precisely–who knows? Certain I am, however, that a king’s head is solemnly oiled at his coronation, even as a head of salad. Can it be, though, that they anoint it with a view of making its interior run well, as they anoint machinery? Much might be ruminated here, concerning the essential dignity of this regal process, because in common life we esteem but meanly and contemptibly a fellow who anoints his hair, and palpably smells of that anointing. In truth, a mature man who uses hair-oil, unless medicinally, that man has probably got a quoggy spot in him somewhere. As a general rule, he can’t amount to much in his totality.”  Herman Melville, Moby Dick

If you play the word “quoggy” on a scrabble board, and you are challenged, you lose; unless you have previously reached agreement with the other players that it will be allowed.  But one still has the dilemma of the meaning and etymology of the word.  Whence came quoggy?

It seems the authors of dictionaries have conspired to a policy of eugenics which excludes this mighty word.  My Webster’s Unabridged, which has many words beginning with Q has not “quoggy,” and neither the Professor nor the Madman saw fit to include it in their massive endeavor, The Oxford English Dictionary.  I have the one where you need a magnifying glass to read it, as well as the supplement, and ne’er a quoggy to be found.  Google the word and you get numerous edited copies of the quote above with people asking the meaning or complaining that they cannot find a definition.  Melville, or rather Ishmael (which means outcast), later in the book, says he makes regular reference to Dr. Johnson’s invaluable dictionary, both because of Dr. Johnson’s size (resembling that of the whale) and thoroughness (that toward which Ishmael himself aspires).  Having in my possession a facsimile of the first edition I sallied forth and found the book completely quoggy-less.  Now, Melville himself probably had access to one of the later editions, which may have the word listed, but I doubt it as both the OED and Google would probably then have some sort of listing.

With all other resources leaving me stranded I had no recourse but to turn to my cell-phone.  A company called KGB will answer any question texted to them for $1.00.  It seemed, and was, an option of last resort.  They did not promise the right answer, only an answer.  In fact they provided me with two answers. Neither correct–at least to my satisfaction.  The first I will not print here, as this is a family friendly site, and the definition they offered was quite pornographic.  I texted back that I was fairly certain that Melville did not mean it in the sense they suggested, and offered them some context.  They then replied that it was a word that Melville himself made up and meant a bald spot.  While  some of the great orators of history might be able to construct an argument here I do not believe the context supports such a definition.

This is one of the wonderful spots where Melville uses humor quite well.  It seems to me clear that he is making fun of what one used to call a dandy.  If one replaces the word quoggy with the word bald the sentence makes no sense, and making sense is one of those things a sentence is supposed to do (unless one finds it in The Wasteland).  The suggestion that seems the most accurate–almost–is that he meant quaggy, which is derived from quagmire–1. of or relating to a quagmire, marshy or boggy; 2. soft or flabby (Webster’s).  Now if you substitute soft or even marshy for the word quoggy you have something that makes sense.  But that is as far as I allow the argument to go.  Here I will take issue with those who claim it as a misspelling, if that were so it would easily have been corrected in a later edition.  I personally lean toward the possibility that Melville used a spelling that would represent a colloquial pronunciation in and around Nantucket at the time Melville wrote.

Now, all that being said, I like the word quoggy, better than quaggy.  Quaggy is not in regular use (and shows up as a misspelling with a red line under it here), and since language changes constantly, I propose to use the word quoggy from time to time, and would encourage everyone else to do the same; particularly in the sense of quoggy minded (a group I find myself in on occasion).

Anyone who runs across other usages of definitions of the word please make a comment and pass it on.  Also, if you happen to have access to a later edition of Dr. Johnson’s great work please check it for quoggy.

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Moby Dick, by Herman Melville

Posted on October 27, 2009 by Ron Rutstein

I have finally completed the book, as promised, and there is a wealth of material here for writing, but I will try not to overwhelm the system. I will stick to compiling my “Reader’s Digest” version, as this novel is not for the feint of heart, but is too good to be missed, as it is by so many, because of the difficulty of getting through the “non-novel” material.
Moby Dick, as one might expect, is a great novel. Melville’s characters are well drawn, the plot is clear from the beginning (as in any traditional Greek Tragedy it is not the story, but how you get there that is important), and there are moments of genuine humor. The problem for the average reader is the amount of detail given on whaling and whaling vessels that has nothing to do with the story portion of the novel. In fact, editing out that portion would shorten it to something along the order of Poe’s Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym which I have not read since college, but will perhaps re-read in light of having finished Moby Dick. For a reader with patience i would still suggest reading the book as written. It is a pleasure reading this book because Melville writes so well, but for those of you who feel feint of heart yet still want to enjoy this classic here are the chapters I suggest reading. Chapters 1-31, 33-34, 36-44, 46-50, 54, 59-61, 73, 81, 91-93, 99-102, 106-135. By choosing these chapter I believe I have left in enough of the nautical and cetological detail to leave the flavor of the book somewhat complete. Yet you can easily choose to read those chapters which I have left out but might seem of interest to an individual reader, the titles of said chapters give enough for one to make a decision as to individual interest.
I actually hope that people would choose to read the entire book, it is worth the effort in the long run, and portrays fully a life that existed for a brief part of American history, and industry that shaped who we were in that time.

Trivia: Quotes from Moby Dick were used in two Star Trek Films. Can you name them?

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