Whisky & Cigars
Scotch & Sofa
Transmediale
Ausberlin
Arm aber sexy (translates as "Poor, but sexy", an anthem for Berlin)
Buchbox
Edelramsch
Whisky & Cigars
Scotch & Sofa
Transmediale
Ausberlin
Arm aber sexy (translates as "Poor, but sexy", an anthem for Berlin)
Buchbox
Edelramsch
Walter Benjamin, "Caution: Steps"
I don't envy Dmitri's position. Vladimir's ghost is not one with which to be trifled. But as a bookseller by trade and a Nabokov lover by necessity, I think we should save the manuscript.
Consider the case of Franz Kafka, who also wanted his work destroyed. It was his intellectual confidante, Max Brod, who decided to go against Kafka's wishes and publish his work.
Furthermore, if someone has the option to contribute art to the world (let alone something original, brilliant, or simply beautiful), what reasons does he have to restrain from doing so? In a time like ours, it is ridiculous to reject any intelligent cultural product. I feel Nabokov would understand this. Ultimately, it's a matter of weighing an individual against a society; no one (who really matters, anyway) would think any less of Nabokov (V. or D.) for allowing an unfinished manuscript be released into the public realm. Sure, the manuscript and Nabokov will, without a doubt, both be subjected to the scrutiny of unremarkable Ph. D. candidates and failed writers. But think of everything we have learned (and could still learn) from that man, that literary master.
One should not forget: The manner dies with the matter.
So, here's my last plea: Please, Dmitri, share with us your treasure chest.
Ermanno Olmi's "I Fidanzati" worked slowly to its climax, which I would say is the last 7 or so minutes of the film. Having gone through several (unsuccessful) long-distance relationships, it is my expert opinion that this movie is very true in depicting the events that occur when one lover decides to pack up and leave (crests of nostalgia and passion, troughs of bitter resentment and denial). It seems that as soon as both parties commit to each other their love and their loyalty (which usually takes an absurd amount of time and distance), things fall apart very quickly.
I loved the flashbacks with the two perspectives (and what I imagine to be the same take) of the motorcycle ride. A film I recommend to only the patient and aesthetically sensitive. Then again, the brief scenes of men walking casually around the hostel in pajama pants, undershirts, and sunglasses are just too cool to miss.
A brief note on the power of dancing. When I think back on the best-preserved memories of these relationships long past, they nearly all involve dancing. Whether in bedrooms to 33s played on my grandmother's old stereo, at Ypsilanti house parties, in Parisian nightclubs, here in Ann Arbor at the bar... it was during these times that my heart surrendered and my fondest memories formed.
But when I'm healthy and far from the clinic, it's an issue that slips easily out of the orbit of my primary concerns and follows the majority of my intellectual inquiries and good-samaritan efforts into the black hole of my consciousness, dissipating alongside such things as witty Halloween costume ideas and drunken small talk.
As I've been reading and watching a lot of war-time narratives, health has been on my mind quite a bit lately. Insuring that every citizen has access to basic, yet proper, healthcare should be the government's primary concern. For so many reasons, the American medical system has to change. I admit, I'm going to take the role of the critic here and not offer a solution. There are plenty out there already, and it will only be a matter of time until we are forced to choose one.
Anyway, the other day I came across this article. The original article was about the failure of doctor's offices to do what they were intended to do: consider the welfare of its patients and keep them feeling as good as possible. It considers such things as out-of-date magazines, dead plants, hospital gowns that cover very little, and anxiety-inducing floor plans. Check it out, but most of all, don't skip reading the comments. A few healthcare providers contribute their perspectives, which basically all point out the fact that clinics don't have sufficient funding.
How can we afford to go to war and impose our government on others when we can't even take care of ourselves?
In other news, German's going well. Work is great, as usual. There's a project in the works that really excites me and ought to absorb every minute of my spare time over the next four-plus months (think Hegel and Michel Gondry, Nietzsche and Miranda July). The fruits of my labor will most likely make their way up here, but I'm also going to aim a little higher. We'll see how it goes, because German is also going to be very demanding.
As previously mentioned, I'm celebrating the repair of my laptop's optical drive by checking out the entire video collection at the AADL. For the entire last third of Almodovar's "Volver" I was a weepy mess, plagued with the guilt of long taking my mother's sacrifices for granted. "Est/Ouest" had a similar effect, though tears were cried out of frustration equally as much as over the film's beauty. "The Wonder Boys" revived my long-forgotten love for Tobey Maguire and had me laughing out loud to myself in bed. I found "Downfall" less enjoyable than "Russian Ark", but I don't think people make movies about Hitler to spice up one's holidays. Truffaut's "Domicile Conjugal" reminded me why I hate men with long hair and roused my inner francophile, who has otherwise been lying obedient, submitting to all the repression I've inflicted over the past few months. What else... "All The Pretty Horses" made me queasy. "Juno" is not to be missed. "The Big Lebowski" will have me drinking white russians all year long. I'm also looking forward to buying "Paris, je t'aime" when it's released in February.
Today a customer came into the store for the sole purpose of giving me a book from her personal collection. I am still touched, hours later. Not more than five people in my life have ever given me a book (six if you count an impromptu demand for a present). One was my grandmother, three were friends, and now M.J. makes five. This makes me pleased as punch.
The Pit of Babel
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Es muß ein Fortschritt geschehen...
Wir graben den Schacht von Babel.
Some progress must be made...
We are digging the pit of Babel.
(Franz Kafka)
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I am Katie Sharrow-Reabe and I am interested in structural and social architecture. Linguistic and cultural translation. Progress through retrospection. Subliminal and subterranean connections. And I would like you to help me put these fragments into a hole.
