Welcome to the Internet, Eric Blair
For those to whom the name in the headline is unfamiliar, you might recognize the associated alias: George Orwell. But whichever you use, it would be handy to remember his anti-Utopia 1984, because a
recent spat on the blog Boing-Bloing is making it practically relevant. You can check the link for the quasi-sordid details (one of the involved parties is a sex columnist of notably ribald sensibilities), but after some kind of falling out, one of Boing-Boing's bloggers removed all mention of the other woman's pen name. The New York Times passed on some interesting questions from the blog's readers:
But the Boing Boing readership certainly viewed it as an act taken on behalf of the Web site. Was Boing Boing deceiving its loyal audience by silently deleting the material, even if no one noticed the absences until a year later? What does it even mean to deceive an audience when it comes to a catalog of one’s personal writings? And does popularity convey different responsibilities to the people who produce a Web site?
The twist, of course, is that for nearly everyone who lives with what the Internet says about them, being unpublished would seem a dream come true. Those photographs from the frat party can be unpublished? Who knew? The essay to the Mickey Mouse Fan Club, too?
How about a few steps further. What if there comes a time when more and more people relied on the Internet and not books, newspapers, and magazines? And what if, unlike more permanent forms of publishing, all that information could be whisked away in a moment? Such an ability would make the Ministry of Truth's job a breeze. Forbid caching sites (like the
Wayback Machine) and trust that over time, people would succumb to laziness and simply look online for the most authoritative and "latest" information. Doesn't sound that much different from today, does it?
Labels: censorship, literature, Orwell
The Thoughtful Side of Cassanova
The Guardian has an article on a
new biography of Cassanova. Some newly reopened archives in Prague are providing food for literal thought. Aside from Cassanova's legendary amorous adventures (which included a few men as well as women, supposedly), he was an otherwise busy man:
In addition to the vast History of My Life, he wrote a total of 42 books and plays, including a translation of the Iliad, a five-volume science-fiction novel, mathematical treatises and opera libretti. He was also a committed follower of the Kabbalah, the mystical Jewish cult holding a deep fascination for him to the extent that he attributed his life's successes to its power.
Labels: authors, books, history, literature
Welcoming Bloomsday with Parody
There are people who take the mickey out of the work of James Joyce. There are people who out-and-out make fun of the Dummies series of books. But never before had I heard of anyone who fused the concepts together:
Ulysses for Dummies. After you've read though the entire opus in about 73 seconds, possibly tarrying a mite for the simply animations, you can then spend your day with the real thing. Quick, the narrative started at 8:00 o'clock this morning.
Labels: Bloomsday, James Joyce, literature
The Nabokov Dilemma
Apparently, Dmitri Nabokov, the 73-year-old son and translator of writer Vladimir Nabokov, has a dilemma:
whether to destroy his father's last literary work or make it available, in an unfinished form, to the world. I remember writing an article on literary executors. One of the discussions I had with an expert was the experience of Franz Kafka's executor. Kafka wanted all of his manuscripts destroyed, and yet the executor, a friend of his, decided instead to let them be published.
It would have been a pity if books like The Fall had never been available for reading. But there is a difference, I think, between completed books and a collection of index cards that might have the equivalent of 30 manuscript pages - not the same as a finished work. And yet, what do you do when you have control over such a hot literary property? I can understand why Dmitri Nabokov hesitates, though inclining to destryong them. But it's a pitty that he mentioned them in the first place, then. At his death, Kafka was not known broadly as a writer, so the decision was, perhaps, easier. But once Nobokov let the cat out of the bag, I can see how the pressure can mount. As I've yet to read a greater or lesser novel by the Russian, it's hard for me to summon forth the dudgeon necessary to literary angst. So much for ever becoming a Critic.
Labels: literature, translation
Dorris Lessing on Winning Nobel Prize for Literature
Here are some quotes from
Dorris Lessing,
reported by the New York Times and
AP, on being asked about winning the Nobel Prize for literature:
Reporters opened the door and told her she had won the Nobel Prize for literature, to which she responded: "Oh Christ! ... I couldn't care less."
"I was a bit surprised because I had forgotten about it actually," she said. "My name has been on the short list for such a long time."
Ms. Lessing said that on second thought, she was not as surprised "because this has been going on for something like 40 years," referring to the number of times she has been mentioned as a likely honoree. "Either they were going to give it to me sometime before I popped off or not at all."
"Now I’m going to go in to answer my telephone," she said. "I swear I’m going upstairs to find some suitable sentences, which I will be using from now on."
"I've won all the prizes in Europe, every bloody one, so I'm delighted to win them all, the whole lot, OK?" Lessing said, making her way through the crowd. "It's a royal flush."
It was interesting to see the censorship/story shaping that goes on in how you report a quote. We have:
"I've won all the prizes in Europe, every bloody one, so I'm delighted to win them all, the whole lot, OK?" Lessing said, making her way through the crowd. "It's a royal flush."
from the Associated Press, and
"I've won all the prizes in Europe, every bloody one, so I'm delighted to win them all. It's a royal flush," she said.
from AFP. And the latter didn't use the "I couldn't care less" quote. Agenda, anyone?
Labels: Dorris Lessing, literature, Nobel, prize
Books and Beer
There's often been a popular connection between writers and drinkers. Now the two are formally meeting in Chicago at the
Drinking & Writing Festival on June 9, which will take place at The Drinking & Writing Brewery. The site also has some writing as well as podcasts. Hopefully no one is spilling alcohol on the page or printers' ink into the glasses.
Labels: beer, Chicago, literature
