Aciman and Guadanino linger on

I said that I have overdosed on Aciman and now I have another proof that I must have done. This post will be written under the influence. No, not under the influence of alcohol but one phrase that came from the direction of Aciman and the film of Guadanino. Love that is a Memory or should it be rather Love that is the Memory. My doubt is not so much about the correct use of “a” and “the” even if prepositions were always my problem, but about stressing that it is a true love I want to talk about.

At some stage, each of our loves becomes a memory. It struck me that the love is still there but in a different form. It is a Memory rather than a story. And it depends on us what we do with it. What meaning we will give it. The important thing is that it still is there, did not get lost just changed its form as anything else changes. I like the thought, find that this way I can preserve something which is in the past but is still with me and in me. I have not lost it.

I think I leave it at that. Just wanted to record a fleeting thought that seems important.

I overdosed on Aciman

Seeing the film Call Me by Your Name I followed by reading the book on which the film is based. I got hooked and started to read Aciman’s work and listen to his lectures on YouTube. Now I almost finished the next book of his - Enigma Variations and started to feel that I have enough of his style and stories for a while.

I think that the title of the book is quite appropriate – Enigma Variations. The book is enigmatic and consists of loosely linked stories that are variations on the subject of love. The title is the same as Elgar’s Variations on the Original Theme composed in 1898 that comprises of fourteen parts. Here I thought that this is a nice link to Proust. Aciman wrote only six themes and this is quite enough for me. Six stories about love linked by the name of the protagonist who does not necessarily have to be the same person. If he is the same person or not it is not all that important. What is important is love that is the subject of each of the stories. As for the XXIst century, they are very idealistic, romantic love stories often based on such goodness of the heroes, that it reads like a fairy tale. Similarly, to Call Me by Your Name, the book I am reading has stories about love between men. The stories are compelling and present love in a very pure and tender manner. Aciman writes beautifully about gay love, almost more beautifully than I have read in any romance between women and men. Not that I read all that many romances, so maybe my comparison here does not have much value.

I wonder if Aciman is gay himself, it does not seem so, but his insight into gay emotions is remarkable. On the other hand, after having quite a bit of contact with his way of thinking, I myself came to a conclusion that love is love and its orientation does not mean anything. Of course, there are some practical implications like having children. This would point to the fact that gay love may not be natural and as such should be condoned. This is not my way of thinking.

Aciman writes about the feelings between men in such a way that I almost think that such love may be more beautiful than the most beautiful love between a woman and a man. He writes about love based on the goodness of the people who love each other, their tenderness towards each other and giving. What I particularly like about the books of Aciman and the film is that there are no explicit scenes and no nudity (in the film, of course). Some people would argue with me about the lack of explicit scenes. Yes, there is one very controversial scene. That controversial that one of my rather broad-minded friends left the cinema theatre after the scene. What is explicit are facial expressions of a very talented Timothee Chalamet. His ability to express feelings may get him an Oscar for the last couple of minutes of the film when his face shows without a word the inner farewell to his love, to his innocence and life as he knew so far. I was spellbound watching him and I am not an exception.

Looks that I am still very much in the mood created by Andree Aciman even if I started the post differently. The thing is that I do not intend to finish the book in the near future. Not that it is not good, but I feel a need to change the mood. It may be a little difficult as I do not have a good candidate for my next reading. Perhaps I need something lighter, maybe funny? 

My book club reading is The Trial of Kafka. This is different, all right, but I somehow I do not feel like jumping into it for relaxation and fun.

Maybe I could give reading a short rest. But this morning I got a lovely article from one of my blogging friends about a bookworm and I know I am one of them so the break may not be all that long. Here is the reference https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/feb/15/childrens-books-lucy-mangan-bookworm?utm_source=esp&utm_medium=Email&utm_campaign=GU+Today+main+NEW+H+categories&utm_term=264253&subid=1405434&CMP=EMCNEWEML6619I2

My recent reading fascinations

I have been always a reader. It started very early when I was a solitary child and I occupied myself after my homework with reading. My mother had a very comprehensive library of classics. At that time in Poland, French literature came just after or just in front of Polish literature in the minds of those who knew what was what. The books were published in series. All books of the same author bound in covers of the same colour and design. Often the books were even bound in leather or some sort of fabric. One had to subscribe to buy such editions. My mother did and I suspect she bought all that was available. However, I do not remember any Dostoyevsky on the shelves. She may have been selective in her book choices, after all. I do not remember her reading the books, she may have only planned to read them one day. When the days when she had enough time to read came, she preferred to watch TV. So, I cannot remember my beautiful mother sitting with the book, engrossed in the story she would be reading. But the library was big and comprehensive. Balzac was all maroon colour, two Polish most famous poets of XIX century were one in pale blue and the other in brownish red with horizontal golden stripes. Polish Nobel prize winner in 1924, Reymont, got a special new covers ordered by my mother at a place that bound books to order. The spines were made of linen canvas. Influenced by my mother’s library and her, perhaps, exaggerated, care for the way the books looked like, I always believed that there is something very special about the written word. I became an avid reader then. I had a reading break for some years when I was working too intensively to read much except for books helping me to be successful at work. Now, I have returned to serious reading. And this is again literature rather than psychological of self-help books. I like nicely published books like my mother did and I often buy hardcover books when available. Or I buy books in Poland, they are much cheaper there than in Australia and they usually have great covers. Silly? Yes, it is silly, but my pleasure of reading nicely looking books seems to be bigger than reading ones that are flimsy and do not open properly.

Writing about my reading I just realized that this is the whole process for me and some trappings are of importance. The reading light needs to be good. But this is just common sense. I like nice bookmarks and I collect them. I have my special reading corners at home. Bookcases are the most important pieces of furniture.

HanyaYanagihara

Andre Aciman

Karl Ove Knausgaard

Kazuo Ishiguro

After some inner struggle, I have accepted retirement as my current way of life and reading became an important part of my life again. For a while, I did not have any favourite writers. I know the names of classics and I have a good idea what their writing is all about, but I was looking for some guidance. I have a friend who knows about literature and he made some very good suggestions and some very good presents that I had to read at least out of politeness. Slowly, the list of my absolute favourites got organically identified. It will perhaps grow or maybe even change, but for now, it is Ishiguro, Aciman, Knaussgard, and Yanagihara. I am catching up with works of Ishiguro and Aciman. They are my discoveries of the last six months. I already know Knausgaard quite well, but he is so prolific in his writing that there is always a stream of new books coming from him. Yanagihara’s next book will come in a good few years and I am already curious what her next subject will be.

I wondered what links the writers and why I got so attracted to their books. They all have the reputation of being “Proustian”. They all say that Dostoyevsky Chekhov and Proust had very big influence on them and the way they write. I know Chekhov only from his plays. Maybe I should read some of his stories? My favourites’ reading lists show me the way and I may follow their example one day. I have read Proust already. It took me many years, but I even enjoyed it and got the mood of the books. I have a problem with Dostoyevsky, though. I have read most of his books, but this was a very long time ago, I was very young then and perhaps I did not understand their value. Read him now again? This is rather off-putting. So intense, those turbulent feelings, tragedies all around, those Dostoyevsky’s women blindly following their men to perdition. A good way to get depressed. But I have his books on my shelves. Hmm…. No, not now.

If I chose to study literature rather than mathematics, I would most likely have stayed in Poland and landed up a teacher of a uni professor. I wonder how my life would have been then. Not that I have any regrets, just momentary curiosity.

Today, I have been reading the essays of Aciman – Alibis. The chapter Intimacy resonated with me a lot. Many ideas made me stop and ponder about myself. Apparently, according to Aciman, in the process of reading, we find ourselves and this may lead to deeper understanding of self. This is actually my reason for reading and this desire dictates the choice of books I read.

The sentence that made me stop and re-read it few times: Insight and intuition are borne from this intimate fusion of self with something or someone else. I think that other things can also be borne from such a fusion.

Phantom Thread

 The leaflet for Phantom Thread was laying on my table for some weeks to remind me to see the film when it comes to my local cinema. The leaflet comes with the descriptions: “One of the best pictures of the year”, “Seductive and absorbing”, “Daniel Day-Lewis, the best actor alive”.

I had my nomination for the best film of 2017 and this has not changed after seeing Phantom Thread. I am not sure about Daniel Day-Lewis as I have seen only few films of his and they perhaps were not the best examples of his acting. I have not seen some films acclaimed for his acting as they seemed particularly brutal and I decided to skip them in self-defence against depression. I agree however that the film is seductive even if there were moments I got out of the spell and felt a little bored. I have rather mixed feeling about the film. Maybe I did not get it. I definitely found it confusing. Surreal in several places.

                                           

On the surface, the film is about famous dressmaker of the 50t’s, his work and his creations. Underneath this beautiful and elegant cover, there is a messy and disruptive love between the controlling, famous dressmaker and a young, strong-willed young waitress. Alma, played by Vicky Krieps, in the first scenes says sweetly simple “Yes” to orders and propositions of the patron of the restaurant she works at. After becoming part of his life as a model, muse, and lover she wants the relationship to be based on her terms as well as his. Or maybe only her terms? There is a struggle between a domineering and totally unreasonable male, his equally domineering sister and the sweet downtrodden girl.  The girl, however, has guts and determination. The film tries to tell us that her love is the motivation for her very unorthodox methods to win the heart and obedience of her lover. I am not convinced here. OK, it is a metaphor, surrealistic one and I reluctantly accept it as such.  Though, I liked very much the scenes in the kitchen where she prepared her love potions. The dignity, calmness and the sense of purpose while cooking are like a slow dance. Loved it.

I am not sure how to explain the dressmaker submissive joy of receiving the tokens of the love of his, by then, wife. The best idea I came up with is that his pleasure is masochistic.

An odd film, but on reflection there is a sense of humour there even if warped, there is a lot of beauty, there is a struggle of sexes with the woman able to stop psychological abuse, there is a lot of nostalgic fashion at its best. On second thoughts the humour is really the strong side of the film.

                                                  

At the beginning of the film, Daniel Day-Lewis dresses and prepares his appearance for the day in the fashion house.  This is a great scene during which he puts on great socks. Long to the knees, with turn up and in great reddish-plum colour. I was so fascinated with the socks that I noticed in the following scenes that he always wears them. The man of style, of course. And a very bad temper.

My favourite of the film is Vicky Krieps an actress from Luxembourg. I hope to see more of her in the future.

                                                   

4.5 out of 5 for this one. It grew on me. It was only 4 out of 5 yesterday.

The Post

I thought I shake off my Call Me by Your Name infatuation for a while and write about something else like The Post. I saw the film just recently and I am moderately impressed, but still would recommend the film and give it my 4 out of 5. But no Oscars from me for the film or anybody related to the film. Just a well-made film, the story that kept my attention even if I knew the facts the film is based on. I could have filed my impressions somewhere in the memory without giving it a second thought if it was not for the nostalgia for the times that were honest and values that were idealistic. The film reminds us of that and I am thankful for it. Maybe there is a hope for us as a human race to turn to those idealistic values again. Well, I know it is pathetic what I write, but they are my naked sentiments and longings. Be they as they may. Looks like Spielberg has similar sentiments so I am in a good company with my nostalgia for honesty and truth.

                                    

The film is about the Washington Post or rather Katharine Graham making the decision to expose the Pentagon Papers and telling the public that the US government was hiding for years the fact that the Vietnam war was unwinnable. Publishing such news was a personal threat to Katharine Graham and Ben Bradley the editor of the newspaper.  This meant many years in prison and the decision was to be made by a woman who most of her life was just a daughter of the powerful father and then the wife of the powerful husband. It was not a comfortable territory for her, but she made her very courageous decision risking a lot. In the end, it worked out very well for the family and for the newspaper. And for her in many ways, I can imagine.

I liked the moment of her making the decision. She was not sure, she was scared and she remembered what her duty as the owner of the newspaper was – to inform the public of the truth. She makes a very hesitant statement with panic sounding in her voice – let’s go, let’s publish. And the history was made.

I have been particularly interested in women like Katharine Graham or Madelaine Albright at some stage of my life. I have read their biographies trying to find guidance on how to live after a major life disappointment. It helped to take some blinkers off and build up courage, but it required ripping out a lot of my idealistic self (Aciman returns) to carry on. Hence my special respect for the women. And the person I was myself some time ago.

               
                                                          My role models

Back to the film. I find the major value of the film in the reminder that it was possible (maybe still is?) to lead the media business in an honest (or at lease semi-honest) way. In the current times, money and power seem to be the only motivation in the world of the politics and the media. I am longing for some idealism and I am happy to realise that there are others who share my longing.

Looks that I am of the generation that looks back to the happy times of the 70ties and the 80ties and shakes the head at the current events as not measuring up to their happy days. My parents and grandparents did the same when my generation was coming on the scene. So, I know the changes are inevitable, but it still does not stop me from having nostalgic feelings and liking the film for waking them up. 

Call Me by Your Name - the book

Andre Aciman

                                             

I just finished Call Me by Your Name - the book. The second time. It almost reduced me to tears. Do I feel uncomfortable about it? Maybe a little and a little confused about my reaction. The book has universal appeal and most of the readers will likely find something in the book that they can relate to. The book about love, the love one longs for and seldom if ever experiences. I could say after the father of Elio “I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way.” Thinking about my life it was just like that. I think I had an inkling that the love can be all-encompassing, uniting people to feeling one when “calling me by your name” is the description of the feeling. All too romantic, all too idealistic, all insensible? So why did I, together with so many people in the world got so moved by the book and the film? At least part of us longs for these ideal feelings. Or regret that they did not experience it.

I wonder what stopped me in the past from giving my all to another person. Was it a lack of the right object to desire and trust? Was is self-protection which equates to lack of courage? Maybe common sense? Too much self-control? Whatever it was I did not go the way Elio went. I know that Elio is just a figment of the imagination of some clever and sensitive men – Andre Aciman, the author, Luca Guadagnini the director of the film and Timothee Salamet – the actor playing Elio. But what they created touched so many nerves and emotions of so many people. There must be more to it than just sentimentality. If fact sentimentality is not what characterizes the book or the film. Just tender and deep feelings expressed masterfully and truthfully.

The people I thank for the beautiful story and feelings. The cast, Guadanino(far right) and Aciman in the middle. Enio is the one in the violet jacket 

                              

What Elio’s father says to his son who had to say goodbye to his lover is often commented on as an object of envy of parents who were not able to be that giving and understanding. One of the reasons why I read the book was to get the words of the father in this particular scene. They go like that:

“You had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their son lands up on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything – what a waste!

I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us cannot help but live as though we got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then there are all those versions in between. But there is only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes the point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now, there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain. “

OK, so I am under the spell of the book and the film. I already ordered a couple of books by Andree Aciman. He is a writer, an academic and a university lecturer on Proust and this is worthwhile exploring as well.  And I will. Some posts will follow, no doubt.

In spite of writing about a book again, I have some life outside my home as well. I have seen the exhibition of Dutch Old Masters in the Sydney Art Gallery. Not too extensive, but some really good examples of the paintings of the time. It was good to take a walk through some green parts of Sydney. Did not move me that much as the book did though. Different pleasure, I guess.