Movements and Gestures

One of the greatest realisations that occurred to me during film school was during the otherwise innocuous screening of a student's assignment. It was contrasty, black-and-white, shot on 16mm, with no dialogue or sound, save for a temporary score via Carl Orff's overture from Carmina Burana.

He had assembled a sequence of shots taken around an old country barn which had fallen apart due to age. There were shots of his pre-school niece playing in the field. Fairly pastoral, well-shot, stuff. However, just before the thunderous beat of the chorus, he did what is technically called a "swish-pan" (essentially swivelling the camera so that the movement from point A to point B in the frame passes by in a quick blur). It wasn't huge - he couldn't have turned the camera more than ten degrees to the right. But the impact was massive on me: I sat there and solidly understood, with the overture's choir belting out the chorus, the acetic importance of a simple gesture.

When you're full of inspiration and energy, your first instinct is to paint on as large a canvas as possible, in block letters, in red. And yet these grandiose movements, glorious though they may be in some works, are not the only - or necessarily the best - means of communication. I discovered how magically integral one simple gesture could be - through a simple adjustment of the camera, the student had intentionally or unintentionally done something that I felt was on-par with even the most flamboyant cinematic spectacles.

Today, on the streetcar, I'm reading Culture and Value, a collection of manuscript notes by Wittgenstein - and again, he makes the same point: the importance of the simplest gesture. You can hear this in music, you can see this in dance; it's even evident in sport. The greatest performances are those which blend masterful movement with graceful gesture.

A call for local writers

Hello all. For the last two years, I've been an organizer and participant of a Toronto-based writers group, called "Carpe DM". We are poets and prose writers: we come from different backgrounds and disciplines. As of late, due to various natural circumstances (school, life, work), our membership has dwindled down from 12 to 6 active participants.

We're looking for new Toronto-based writers to join our group.

If you're interested, here are some take-a-look-in-the-mirror recommendations:

1) We are only interested in people who are serious about writing (in that writing is an ongoing process, which involves labour and dedication).

2) We are not interested in writers who are looking solely for congratulations on their work, but who instead desire honest, constructive feedback. On this note, you will be expected to provide the same for the other members.

3) We are looking for people who can attend monthly meetings (it's in a bar, so it's not like we're stuffy or anything).

4) You are over the age of 25.

5) We are not a star chamber; we do not encourage preciousness, though to be brutally honest we also believe in meritocracy. We are good writers who want to become better writers. Adding poor writers is not something we are interested in.

Still there? Good. If this sounds like something you're interested in, please leave a comment or drop me a line (by removing the word "NOSPAM" from this address): apostata@NOSPAMrogers.com.

You cannot write anything about yourself that is more truthful than you yourself are. That is the difference between writing about yourself and writing about external objects. You write about yourself from your own height. You don't stand on stilts or on a ladder but on your bare feet.

- Ludwig Wittgenstein (manuscript note, 1937)

Book Review: Cathedral, by Raymond Carver

I recently made the acquaintance of someone who works as a literary agent for TV and films. I didn't know this when we'd been first introduced, just as she was unaware that I wrote fiction. In these sorts of situations I tend to play it cool, because the last thing I want to do is come across as a "desperate unpublished writer" (insert images from Dawn of the Dead) and thus endanger the non-professional relationship. Still, she nonetheless asked if I'd be interested in sending her some work to read. I obliged and, happily, she liked it very much.

We got to talking about writers and influences, and she asked whether I'd ever read Raymond Carver. I hadn't (insert sound of audience hissing), though I'd heard of him. [It occurred to me later that I'd seen Robert Altman's Short Cuts - which (very loosely) strung together several of Carver's short stories into one long, dark ensemble piece.] It was when she mentioned that one of my stories reminded her of Carver that I figured I might as well find out for myself.

So, I picked up Cathedral, a collection of short stories at Babel Books & Music, a local second-hand bookstore and immediately proceeded to satisfy my curiosity.

Firstly, I was thankful. Yes, there was a similarity, but I found that the "world" Carver inhabited as a writer (I use the past tense because he passed away in 1988) differs from mine. This may sound selfish, but I still sometimes suffer from an irrational fear that everything I'm writing has been done by someone else, and that it's only a question of time before I find out, like some sick Twilight Zone episode. But I digress...

And what, pray tell, is Carver's world? It's a sparsely urban, godless place, inhabited with people who find ways to ignore the mounting problems facing them. This doesn't speak for all the stories, but it certainly summarizes the atmosphere. He paints as a writer what Edward Hopper writes as a painter (though I would argue that Carver's characters probably aren't as well-dressed, and if you're wondering why I've switched from past-tense to present-tense, it's that I'm trying to wittily suggest that the product of an artist can survive its creator's demise). And yet, this world isn't one that has gone to hell. There is love, though it is often tempered by the cool water of circumstance. There is even a sense of magic lurking in the shadows, albeit a neutral magic; one that can spell enlightenment or tragedy at the slightest moment.

Since this is a collection of short stories, providing a synopsis for each (or any) would probably spoil the pleasure of reading them - and despite the picture I paint of Carver's literary universe (or at least that contained in Cathedral), it is a unique pleasure to read them. Carver is a model of tight writing - he takes the "why say in 30 words what you can say in 10?" mantra and says it in five. Most recently, an article in the New York Times highlights an ongoing controversy about the editorial authority of some of Carver's published work, with speculation that some of this tightness may have been the work of an over-zealous editor.

In short, I clearly understand why Raymond Carver is praised as one of the great American writers: his vision is clear, even when the lives of his characters are muddied, and his writing style is immediate and bracing.

Cathedral, by Raymond Carver (ISBN: 978-0679723691) is available at an independent bookstore near you, new or second-hand. You can also purchase it at any number of online vendors.

A poet must be a psychologist, but a secret one: he should know and feel the roots of phenomena but present only the phenomena themselves in full bloom or as they fade away.

- Ivan Turgenev

Book Review: Siddhartha, by Hermann Hesse

This is the second book I've read (and reviewed) from Hesse. Admittedly, after first reading Steppenwolf early this year, I was in no rush to go further just yet - that book was enough for my mind to deal with and left an indelible impression. However, hey, Siddhartha is only 122 pages...how much of a hassle could that be?

Thankfully, this svelte novella bares little resemblance to Steppenwolf's hallucinogenic soul-churning. It's a simple, spiritual tale, reminiscent in style of works I read in my late-teens and early twenties (in particular: Khalil Gibran and Jiddu Krishnamurti).

The book begins with Siddhartha, the handsome and talented son of a Brahmin family, bidding farewell to his people and homeland. Driven to plumb the depths of spiritual knowledge, he and his best friend, Govinda, decide to join a group of Samanas - ascetic nomads who drift through towns and desert alike, denouncing all possessions. At first, Siddhartha takes to the group and spends a long time mastering their philosophy until he eventually finds himself dissatisfied and conflicted by the limits of their teaching.

Breaking away with Govinda in tow, Siddhartha journeys to find a group of monks attending an open lecture by the Gotama Buddha, their spiritual leader. Hearing Gotama speak, Siddhartha begins to finally understand his path. Given an opportunity to speak privately with him, Siddhartha extols the virtue of what Gotama has stated, but tells him that the path he sees for himself cannot be found following Gotama. The Buddha is surprised and asks him to explain, to which Siddhartha reveals his revelation: that the Gotama learned everything not by following others, but by making his own path, and if need be his own mistakes.

It is at this point that he and his friend break from one another - Siddhartha decides to go into a nearby town to find his way, and Govinda, equally taken by the words of Gotama, decides to follow him as one of his faithful monks. When he reaches the town, Siddhartha finds himself indulging in the flesh and physical manifestations of the world: he falls in love with a beautiful courtesan and finds a job with a wealthy trader. Years pass, and while Siddhartha accumulates fortunes and lavish tastes, his soul begins to buckle, his demeanour sours, as he longs for the path he thought he'd found. He eventually breaks away from the town and finds himself at the doorstep of a poor ferryman - it is there that he forms his understanding of the spirit, nourished with the help of the ferryman and the voice of the river.

In the end, Siddhartha's path is one of profound simplicity - a result of his spiritual maturity aided by the fateful intervention of those in his past. In circumstances both tragic and sublime, he attains the peacefulness he was searching for, though in ways he was unable to perceive beyond his youthful revolt.

This book is oft-described as one of the more compelling European perspectives on Indian spirituality. I found myself, for the first quarter of the book, feeling as if I was going over familiar territory - concisely written, but hardly ground-breaking stuff. It was only at the point of Siddhartha's revelation in the face of Gotama, that the Buddha himself never followed the teachings of others save for the lessons of personal experience - thus, why should Siddhartha be a follower? - that the book grabbed me. There is something Nietzschian in this; superimposing the perceptive defiance of an individual onto a "meeting by the river" of two minds, one old and wise, the other young and daring. To see what happens to Siddhartha, in many ways symbolic of those precious few who attempt to live by their learned convictions, is what drives the reader to finish the book. I don't think anyone will be disappointed in Siddhartha, though to what extent they are inspired is another question - one which truly depends on the mind and soul of the reader.

Siddhartha, by Hermann Hesse (ISBN: 978-0811200684) is available at a friendly independent bookstore near you. Or online at any number of vendors.

I'm alive

I'm alive and well, ladies and gentlemen. After finishing the theatrical release of a major motion picture, I'm slowly finding time to blog - I hope you understand that, faced with a choice between having a life and blogging (because, these days I cannot do both and be happy), I will pick the former every time.

That said, I have two book reviews coming down the pipe: the first is Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse, and the second is Cathedral, a collection of short stories by Raymond Carver.

I also have a nice batch of photos I've taken, so feel comfortable that the future of this blog is not solely text-based.

Regards,

mc