The Amazon Guide

Sometimes, when reading a big book, one gets the feeling that the author set out to achieve size, as if that in itself might suggest certain adjectives from a reader or reviewer – weighty, significant, deep, serious, complex, extensive, perhaps. Sometimes – rarely, in fact – one reads a big book and becomes lost in its size, lost in the sense that one ceases to notice the hundreds passing by, as the work creates its own time, defines its own experience, shares its own world. Even then, reaching the end can often be merely trite, just a running out of steam, the process thoroughly engaging, the product, however, something of a let down. Rarely, very rarely indeed, one reads a big book that actually needs its size, justifies itself, continues to surprise as well as enchant and then, finally, stuns. Margaret Atwood’s Blind Assassin is such a book, a giant in every sense, a masterpiece beyond question.

Blind Assassin was awarded the Booker prize in 2000 and charts intersecting histories of two well-to-do Canadian families, Chase and Griffen. The two Chase sisters, Iris and Laura, are quite different people. Born into the relative opulence of a Canadian manufacturing family, they have a private education of sorts, experienced throughout and yet alongside something vaguely like a childhood. Various aspects of twentieth century history impinge upon their lives and eventually force their family to reassess its status. Economic downturn, war and family tragedy take their toll on the father, who becomes less able to manage either his own life or his business. Something has to give. Ways of coping must be found.

Iris, the elder sister, is the first person narrator of about half of the book, the other half being devoted to a book within a book, a novel in the name of Laura, the younger sister. This novel, entitled The Blind Assassin, is an eclectic mix of experience, sex, fantasy and politics. It has made a name for Laura and retains a significant cult following many years after its publication. Laura, herself, died in a car accident. She drove off a bridge into a ravine. The car belonged to Iris. There was never any real explanation for the event.

Iris, meanwhile, has been married off to an older man, a Griffen, who seems to treat her like so much chattel. But then he is an industrialist with the wherewithal, not to mention capital, to assist the bride’s family business in its time of need. Iris, therefore, experiences the Canadian equivalent of an arranged marriage. Perhaps the word marriage is a little overstated. The partnership could be better described as a merger, or a union, if that were not a dirty word because of its political connotation.

And so the octogenarian Iris, clearly anticipating the end of her days, embarks upon a cathartic outpouring of personal and family history in the hope that an estranged granddaughter might just understand a little about other peoples’ motives.

The book takes us through Canada and north America, across to Europe, via an imagined universe, to political commitment, direct action and its inevitable reaction. Iris needs to write it all down. And so she works her story out, constructing it, perhaps reconstructing it, maybe inventing it from memory and relived experience against a backdrop of contemporary Canada and her own failing health. Her vulnerability, in the end, is our debt, our penance, perhaps. She is a wise old woman with much to hide, but her acerbic wit is undiminished by age, her observations of others stunningly perspicacious.

It is not often that a novel, a mere flight of another’s fancy, achieves the subtle, stunning and surely enduring power of the Blind Assassin.

Philip Spires
Author of Mission, an African novel set in Kenya
http://www.philipspires.co.uk

Michael, a missionary priest, has just killed Munyasya, a retired army officer, outside the cathedral in Kitui, Kenya. It was an accident, but Mulonzya, a politician, exploits the tragedy for his own ends.

Margaret Atwood on Why Men Should Be Blue

How Mr. Collins proposed to Elizabeth Bennet:

Not long ago, Mary Patricia and I saw a movie based on the Jane Austen’s novel Pride and Prejudice. The scenes in which Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy proposed to Elizabeth Bennet made us cringe with disgust.

This is what Mr. Collins says in a boorish preamble:

“Almost as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it will advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying-and moreover for coming into Hertfordshire with the design of selecting a wife, as I certainly did.”

Next he offers his reasons:

“My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in easy circumstances (like myself) to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness; and thirdly-which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the particular advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honour or calling patroness.”

One can understand that Mr. Collins is a ridiculous character whose actions and speech are deliberately inserted in the novel to bring about the much needed comic relief. But Mr. Collins isn’t joking-he is quite serious!

And speaking of seriousness, we find that the most serious character of the entire cast, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, uses the same boorish and unromantic marriage proposal; a proposal even more despicable than that of the loathsome Mr. Collins.

How Mr. Darcy proposed to Elizabeth Bennet

Again, a boorish preamble:

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire you.”

Next he offers his reasons. The exact words may have been too painful for the readership of the times; and in good sense the author has the narrator to intimate them only. Instead the narrator tells us about Darcy’s expectations:

“He [Mr. Darcy] concluded with representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all his endeavors, he had found impossible to conquer; and with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt of a favourable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real security.”

When Elizabeth rebuffs him with a scathing speech of which the most memorable line is “…and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed to married,” Mr. Darcy instead of making a graceful exit, insists by remarking on his superiority of status, his superiority of connections, and by the vulgarity of Elizabeth’s family members.

Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy’s proposal were insults and affronts rather than honor and homage to the beloved.

Nothing in their speech projects love but coldness and arrogance.

Although I was not quite eighteen years of age when I proposed, I instinctively knew that it is the man’s role to woo the beloved and win her hand in a way that is warm and loving. The man’s speech (proposal) I was sure would have to be clear and filled with ‘you’ and not with ‘me’ or ‘I.’

How I proposed to Mary Patricia:

When we were in between classes Mary Patricia and I would meet either at the sun dial or by the sycamore tree in front of Lewisohn Hall. Without any experience in amorous proposals, and fearful that my nervousness would botch up what could be the most momentous occasion of my life, one afternoon sitting under the old tree I scribbled a few notes on an index card.

Then as if under the spell of a guiding force, as we stood under the sycamore tree, this is what I read to her:

“Since we met, you’ve made me a better student, a better person: kinder and nobler. And I now have a burning desire to succeed in life; not because of me, not because of my family, but because I want you to think of me as a worthy person.

“If I always feel compelled to hold your hand and to put my arms around you, it is because I want to make sure you are human, that you aren’t an angel or a goddess. I cannot imagine the rest of my life without you by my side, for you and your music are everything to me now: when I’m awake I think of you, when I sleep I dream of you, and in my dreams you are my hypnosis, my delirium, and my peace.

Having read my scribbling, and as I got down on one knee, I asked Mary Patricia:

“Will you marry me-will you marry this poor boy from the Andes who was born to love you forever?”

About the Author:

Retired. Former investment banker, Columbia University-educated, Vietnam Vet (67-68).
For the writing techniques I use, see Mary Duffy’s e-book: Sentence Openers.
To read my book reviews of the Classics visit my blog: Writing To Live

Article Source: ArticlesBase.com – Jane Austen’s Pride And Prejudice – Marriage Proposals Or Insults?

Jane Austen’s “Emma” part 1(Kate Beckinsale and Mark Strong )

To Antonin Artuad, theatre was not a matter of life and death, it was hell of lot more important than that. He wanted theatre to return to what it once was in primitive societies – pure magic – an event where a catharsis of the audience would take place.

This catharsis that he spoke so passionately about was not to be fleeting, it was not to be the type of catharsis that would move the audience for just the rest of the evening, only to be forgotten about with the cold realities of the morning, rather it was to be a catharsis that was to change civilisation, entirely and forever.

Artaud was rallying against traditional French theatre – the stock process of proposing a problem at the beginning of a play and providing a solution to this problem by the end of the play. He envisioned a theatre characterised by freedom, mystery and surrealism and he observed the roots of this type theatre in the work of Mallarme, Maeterlinck and Alfred Jarry. He was overwhelmed by a performance of Balinese theatre which he witnessed at the Colonial Exposition in Paris in 1931, it cemented his belief that a dramatic presentation should be an act of initiation during which the spectator will be awed and even terrified, even heightening to such a degree that they may even lose their reason.

During this induced frenzy the spectator will be able to take onboard a complete new set of truths, revelations into the true nature of society. Artaud sought theatre to disturb the mind and open the subconscious, driving people back to their primitive nature. His method of achieving this goal was to base theatre in the arenas of danger and cruelty. He thought that words should act as an incantation and actors should become something akin to shaman summoning life themes that are beyond human.

Russell Shortt is a travel consultant with Exploring Ireland, the leading specialists in customised, private escorted tours, escorted coach tours and independent self drive tours of Ireland. Article source Russell Shortt, http://www.exploringireland.net
http://www.visitscotlandtours.com

Antonin Artaud