Mostly Concerning Literary Matters.

Walking along the lane at dusk the stranger was struck by two or three peculiar features therein. One was an intermittent rumbling from the back premises of the inn halfway up; this meant a skittle alley. Another was the extensive prevalence of whistling in the various domiciles - - a piped note of some kind coming from nearly every open door. Another was the frequency of white aprons over dingy gowns among the women around the doorways. A white apron is a suspicious vesture in situations where spotlessness is difficult; moreover, the industry and cleanliness which the white apron expressed were belied by the postures and gaits of the women who wore it - - their knuckles being mostly on their hips (an attitude which lent them the aspect of two-handled mugs), and their shoulders against door posts; while there was a curious alacrity in the turn of each honest woman's head upon her neck and in the twirl of her honest eyes, at any noise resembling a masculine football along the lane.

Here's a nice little piece of artful insinuation from Thomas Hardy's The Mayor of Casterbridge, which might be generally described as a novel of betrayal and revenge, blind anger and painful regret. It is in my mind somewhat inferior to Far from the Madding Crowd and Jude the Obscure as it seems uncharacteristically melodramatic, as far as my estimation of Hardy's work has developed (this being my third Hardy novel). It reminds me a bit of Hawthorne's novels, though minus the fantastical/supernatural elements. That's not to cast any aspersions on Hawthorne, who for me is unequaled in his specific genre. 

In the meantime, I have begun my reading of a ponderous 900 page tome by Olga Tokarczuk and entitled The Books of Jacob. I happened to hear about this novel in some way, I have forgotten how, and the subject drew me strongly because it reminded me of my son's passing obsession with a Messianic figure by the name of Sabbatai Zevi--a 17th century Rabbi and Kabbalist who briefly led people as a sort of Messiah. I don't remember the details now with any clarity of Zevi's philosophies and adventures, but I do remember having many a long discussion with Holden, or rather sitting for many a long lecture on the rabbi's views. Tokarczuk's novel follows a similar historical figure from the 18th century, and I just wanted to kind of reacquaint myself with something that used to engage me with my son. But I have only gotten to about page 100 thus far and so I cannot say much about the novel. I'm actually surprised that I was able to find it at all. I could have found it of course if I still had a functioning Kindle reader, but I don't. Or rather, the reader functions but I have no US visa to connect it with. However, I thought one fine day that I would just take a look on the internet marketplace here in Indonesia, called Shopee, and lo and behold there it was. So this must be a providential sign, as Holden surely would have thought. If only I had him here still to interpret for me. 

In matters not touching on the literature, I was surprised to hear today from my stepdaughter, Jamila, whom I have not seen for some 16 years and more. She is traveling here to Yogyakarta and then to Bali, and I am very much looking forward to seeing her again, as I have very much missed her during this long period of time.

Blue Shoes

Henchard gave Elizabeth Jane a box of delicately tinted gloves one spring day. She wanted to wear them to show her appreciation of his kindness, but she had no bonnet that would harmonize. As an artistic indulgence she thought she would have such a bonnet. When she had a bonnet that would go with the gloves she had no dress that would go with the bonnet. It was now absolutely necessary to finish; she ordered the requisite article, and found that she had no sunshade to go with the dress. In for a penny in for a pound; she bought the sun shade, and the whole structure was at last complete. 

The Mayor of Casterbridge, Thomas Hardy 

 

Just a humorous bit from this novel, which, 1/3 the way through, has offered a a quiet handful of such tongue in cheek incidents. And I can identify. Any of you other husbands or ex-husbands out there with me? 

The dress doesn't fit right. I have no blouse to go with this skirt. I have no skirt to go with this blouse. Oh my God, I have no shoes! No shoes at all! 🤭

I can vividly remember my ex-wife standing outside her closet, staring at the two shoe racks therein, and exclaiming that she had no shoes.

"No shoes? But my dear, what are these?" 

"Blue!" she said. "I need blue shoes! I can't wear this dress without blue shoes!" 

It occurred to me at the time that I did have a pair of blue shoes that I might offer, but on second thought I decided against mentioning the idea.

A Last Word Followed by a First Word

The landlord of the lodging, who had heard that they were a queer couple, had doubted if they were married at all, especially as he had seen Arabella kiss Jude one evening when she had taken a little cordial; and he was about to give them notice to quit, till by chance overhearing her one night haranguing Jude in rattling terms, and ultimately flinging a shoe at his head, he recognized the note of genuine wedlock; and concluding that they must be respectable, said no more. 

Jude the Obscure, Thomas Hardy 

One suspects, if he has read enough of Hardy, that the author was less than enthusiastic about the joys of marriage. And that is an understatement. The quote above in any case represents a very rare bit of humor in this otherwise breathlessly tragic tale. 

Throughout the novel, Hardy's theme has been one of true, simple love juxtaposed against properly adjudicated unions bearing the stamp of religious and societal approval. The killing influence of the letter in opposition to the natural outpouring of the heart. As the novel was written near the close of the 19th century, you can probably guess which power prevailed--although, in truth, a dynamic is set wherein all things fail. 

So I leave Jude now to his grave and his great love for Sue to her passionless marriage and move on to the Mayor of Casterbridge, by the same author, where we find this very early on indeed: 

That the man and woman were husband and wife, and the parents of the girl in arms there could be little doubt. No other than such relationship would have accounted for the atmosphere of stale familiarity which the trio carried along with them like a nimbus as they moved down the road.

Lol. So here we go again with stale marriages. The man seems to have carried the issue from book to book like Marley from place to place with his ponderous chains.

Jude the Acherontic

Is a woman a thinking unit at all, or a fraction always wanting its integer? 🤭

Remember that the best and greatest among mankind are those who do themselves no worldly good. 

Jude the Obscure, Thomas Hardy 

Learned a new word today. Rhadamanthine. To show stern and inflexible judgment. 

And another. Acherontic. An adjective describing something as dark, dismal, gloomy, or Infernal, often evoking a sense of death or the underworld. It is derived from the Greek mythological river Acheron and signifies a profound, hopeless sorrow or a pitch black atmosphere. 

And there you have the whole atmospheric canvas of Jude the Obscure; for, my goodness, this novel is grim and gloomy indeed, and rather shockingly so, in my mind anyway, for a novel published in 1894. 

And it is all rather wonderfully, astoundingly done. 

I wonder if anyone has ever counted the occurrences of the word obscure or its various forms through the pages of the novel. Surely someone has, I think. And then there are the many synonyms as well. Hardy has planted these throughout the text, and quite artfully so, I thought; gradually, though ceaselessly, adding darkness and dimness and gloom and fog and storm in ever heavier shades.

Only 50 pages or so remaining now. What else could go wrong? Much, I suspect, if the preceding 300 are any clue.

Tragic Comedy

'But it seems such a terribly tragic thing to bring beings into the world--so presumptuous--that I question my right to do it sometimes!'

--Jude the Obscure, Thomas Hardy 

My girlfriend has often expressed the same general thought--that the world now is such a terrible, tragic place that it calls into question whether she should have ever agreed to bear children. Why has God made such a world, she wonders, wherein tragedy and disaster thrive? 

Well, if it is any comfort, we can see from the Hardy quote that the world now is not any worse than the world of the mid 19th century; and one may safely assume that it never has been much good. Especially if one is acquainted with history and literature. So if misery loves company, this has been a long, long affair.

By extension then, we can appreciate the soundness of scripture when it says: God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. Always terribly tragic, I guess 😉😅

Of course the key to the issue, theologically anyway, is that the good world that God created ended with original sin and the fall from grace. Since that time, it has been pretty much of a dumpster fire. Our eyes and our minds are therefore rightly set upon things above, things beyond, even as we struggle through things as they are. 

She doesn't believe that last part. She wants God to fix things now. This crappy world was his fault to begin with, she figures, and he should have done it right in the first place, or not at all! 😅

obscurity

All laughing comes from misapprehension. Rightly looked at there is no laughable thing under the sun. 

'Well, now we have met, come along,' she returned, ready to quarrel with the sun for shining on her. And they left the tent together, this pot-bellied man and florid woman, in the antipathetic, recriminatory mood of the average husband and wife of Christiandom. 

Just a couple of sober jewels from the relentlessly somber novel, Jude the Obscure. A careful menace of fate hangs over every chapter, and when the sun breaks through it is fragile, momentary, a passing illusion of a life that might be but never will be. A darkness of ill-advised passions lingers always in the background, just beyond the illusory parting of the clouds. 

I'm loving it! 😅

I am also back now from Lovina, the land of dreadful humidity, and having spent a few additional lovely, breezy, sunshiny south Bali days with Evelyn, I am now on my own again and having to readjust to her absence. 

There seems a sort of sad harmony with Jude the Obscure--a synchronicity that so often happens in the intersection of literature and life. My own thoughts pop up in the novel, and the novel pops up in the fabric of my life, and there is no laughable thing under the sun. I am plucked out of time and plunked down in the midst of paradise lost. Paradise, yes; but lost already. 

But ah well, I am content as long as contentment shines. To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.

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