The modern day canon of the LES ÉDITIONS DE L’OUBLI to date:
The above links are to my real-time reviews.
Underlinings are links.
Today’s picture of the Yieldingtree: the nearest I have been able to reach it in my wellington boots for some time during this Perpetual Autumn. Still sorry for itself and in fact now appearing to turn in a new direction to lock eyes…
Another of today’s pictures showing perhaps that the Perpetual Autumn is now waning – at least for someone?
Extract from my review of ‘The Galaxy Club’ (Chomu Press 2014):
Regarding ‘The Galaxy Club’ (by Brendan Connell), my reference to the Galaxy Club not as a society or interest group but as a hitting device like the Demon Taming-Stick has now worried me that it might be an inadvertent spoiler by my fortuitously hitting on something not yet divulged by the book.
Meanwhile, I am sad that my review of James Joyce’s ‘Finnegans Wake’ seems to be gaining the fewest hits of all my reviews while I think it is the best of my reviews so far and should be a big hit!
Also please compare the astrological digging for gold in ‘The Luminaries’ by Eleanor Catton (also reviewed by me) with that in ‘The Galaxy Club’.
Extract from my real-time review here of FINNEGANS WAKE by James Joyce:
–> Page 466
“He is looking aged with his pebbled eyes, and johnnythin too, from livicking on pidgins’ ifs with puffins’ ands,…”
“Let us be holy and evil and let her be peace on the bough.”
“With your dumpsey diddely dumpsey die, fiddeley fa. Diavoloh!”
That reminds me of Leland Palmer’s song in TWIN PEAKS. And it has ignited in my mind several comparisons between FW and this landmark TV series by David Lynch. The backward speech, in particular, as SKOOB was mirrored backwards earlier in tune with this book’s captchas and insidious wordplay rhythms and muddles that infiltrate the mind etc. The sexual concatenations, too. The incestuous implications (eg: Leland and HCE). In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think TP may have been inspired or at least Jungianly synchronised by FW. This does not seem to have been noticed before, perhaps not even noticed by Lynch and his colleagues!
EDIT (a bit later today): And Nadine in TP wore an eye patch on her left eye, as James Joyce did. Much has been spoken about Nadine in this regard, and I do wonder if she had iritis rather than losing it in a riding accident.
If further TP-FW connections arise, I shall mention them in the comment stream below.
A few years ago, I wrote this blog post about my recurring iritis (a serious, relatively rare condition) which has been a long-term curse upon my life ever since my left eye had its first bout of it in 1973.
Quite by chance, while real-time reviewing here a story about a giant monocle from Rhys Hughes’ new book ‘Flash in the Pantheon’ (Gloomy Seahorse Press), I discovered today, by a surprising google search, that James Joyce was similarly cursed.
I happen also to be concurrently real-time reviewing Joyce’s ‘Finnegans Wake’ here.
Cf: “The Irritated Text” of JJ now reminds me of the explicit ‘vexed texture of text’ in my novella WEIRDTONGUE and its Narrative Hospital.
From that of St Jude during December to last night’s, the serial storms are said to be tailing off in the foreseeable future. There seems to be something relaxed about the bleached sphinx rock at the foreground of the above photo (taken this morning with difficulty amid residual strong gusts) – and can we expect the denizens of more amenable weather to spring forth from their drawers in the groyne’s base?
From THE GLASTONBURY ROMANCE (1933) by John Cowper Powys:
“One especial thing that struck his pragmatic and literal mind was the extraordinary difference between this murderous-looking flood-water and all other bodies of water he had ever seen or known. The brownish-grey expanse before him was not like the sea; nor was it like a lake. It was a thing different from every other natural phenomenon. A breath of abominable and shivering chilliness rose up from this moving plain of waters, a chilliness that was more than material, a chilliness that carried with it a wafture of mental horror. It was as if some ultimate cosmogonic catastrophe implying the final extinction of all planetary life had commenced. A wind of death rose from that mounting flood that carried a feeling of water-soaked disfigured corpses!”
I began HERE a gestalt real-time review of FINNEGANS WAKE by James Joyce, a book in which I have dabbled reading for many years, but now tackling it for the first time from Began to Finish.
I am up to page 80 of this book today, and below are two extracts from my review upon which I require feedback from other FW readers like yourself. Please comment below in the unlikely event that you actually see this blog! No captchas needed?
1. There is a plot to this book that several have tried to adumbrate over the years, a special Joycean language that others have tried to nail down with a single word of description, characters that chop and change, themes and threads that also chop and change, all of which elements the critics have tried to plumb (see the book’s Wikipedia if you must)…..But I contest that any attempt to plumb these things will come back to choke you. So I won’t. I just know there is an experience to be had here and I hope by the time I reach the end such an experience will have become the whole of me rather than a part of me that I try to examine from outside. Examining life from within the same life, the mind from within the same mind, all doomed to failure – but Finnegans Wake itself is the only ‘death’ we shall know retrocausally. Our own death experienced after it has happened? We shall see or, at least, I hope, I shall see: “For dear old grumpapar, he’s gone on the razzledar, through gazing and crazing and blazing at the stars.” (Page 65)
2. So far, I see I have instinctively used the terms ‘capture’ and ‘captive ‘ above. In fact, the text reminds me of the ‘captcha’ codes we are often presented with as necessary bot-proof gateways for you being able to ‘manipulate’ sites on the internet. And these codes are real words changed or confused by Joyce (like the characters themselves) into such captcha codes – gateways to what I mentioned earlier regarding the manipulation of death? The ‘finegan’ wake after death – a way out of death? In this light, I again wonder how anyone has not noticed — except me? (please tell me here in reply to this comment if I am wrong about being the first to notice) — that Finnegan as a word is a blend of Finish and Began, and this also ties in with what appears to be generally accepted, i.e. that the Finish of this massive book runs into the ‘riverrun’ of where it Began!
Rameau’s Nephew by Denis Diderot
Jacques the Fatalist by Denis Diderot
The Inmates by John Cowper Powys
The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann
Finnegans Wake by James Joyce
The Villa Désirée and Other Uncanny Stories by May Sinclair
War With The Newts by Karel Capek
Facial Justice by LP Hartley
PLUS links to my material upon:
Paintings and other items of Fine Art sometimes have map-like craquelure when they get older and not looked after, but often quite quaint with seasoned character. Dry land can have such craquelure, too.
Weather forecast maps, too, with the whorls of their meta-craquelure multiplying, getting closer together, but there any comforting quaintness ends.
We’re tightly squeezed between yet another coupling of storm craquelures at the moment on this coast where I live, but already, from last night’s storm, solid rocks were strewn not only across the beach but up onto the prom … boulders, too, by the presumed strength of explosive waves! Geographical craquelure as well as meteor-ological?
This morning’s broken-backed skyline between storms: