First and foremost: Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events are being made into a feature-length live-action film starring Jim Carrey (this is old news, but worth repeating) and the film is set to be released December 17, 2004. Somehow, a TV promo spot [requires QuickTime] has already made it online. It looks exquisite. The casting for Klaus looks a bit off (too old, too tall, too skinny, too un-bookish, etc.) and I have no idea how they’re condensing an as-yet-unfinished series of thirteen books into a single movie, but I’m thinking this could be great. Really, really great.
…
I’m finally getting around to reading Kundera’s Book of Laughter and Forgetting after finally finishing Sigrid Undset’s Jenny last week. My friend from work tells me that women like Kundera, but I have enjoyed reading his books more than almost any other author. I was quite pleased to come across the following passages this morning while I was waiting for my car to be fixed (translation by Aaron Asher):
Graphomania (a mania for writing books) inevitably takes on epidemic proportions when a society develops to the point of creating three basic conditions:
(1) an elevated level of general well-being, which allows people to devote themselves to useless activities;
(2) a high degree of social atomization and, as a consequence, a general isolation of individuals;
(3) the absence of dramatic social changes in the nation’s internal life.…
But by a backlash, the effect affects the cause. General isolation breeds graphomania, and generalized graphomania in turns intensifies and worsens isolation. The invention of printing formerly enabled people to understand one another. In the era of universal graphomania, the writing of books has an opposite meaning: everyone surrounded by his own words as by a wall of mirrors, which allows no voice to filter through from outside.
…
One morning (and it will be soon), when everyone wakes up as a writer, the age of universal deafness and incomprehension will have arrived.
No, the irony of my posting this here is not lost on me, thankyouverymuch.
NP: Franz Ferdinand, 40 ′
P.S. —I have a new address and phone number. I don’t know if anyone who cares reads this, or if anyone reading cares, or if anyone cares, or if anyone reads this, but here is the new info:
Michael Hoke
4400 East-West Highway #916
Bethesda, MD 20814
[cell] (202) 236-5705
I read the Book of Laughter and Forgetting about 12 years ago. It is a great read. I’m sure you’ve thouroughly enjoyed it by now.
Comment by ben—23 April 2004 @ 10:54 am
Before launching into a discussion about the relevance or truthfulness of that nugget from Kundera, I thought I might inquire as to why that passage was particularly pleasing.
It’s an interesting topic, but let me say first, it also epitomizes what I don’t like about Kundera’s writing. He makes these offhanded, philosophic sounding arguments that have little to no grounding in truth. It sounds exciting, though. And, in his novels, these aphorisms are first spelled out and then, by some force of God (pen), proved true by the characters.
That’s not to say that the writing isn’t beautiful: the metaphors are well constructed and the argument is compelling. That may be the most we can ask from an author. Or is it?…..
Comment by Friend@Work—26 April 2004 @ 8:51 pm
First: Lemony Snicket. That was first and foremost! The Kundera stuff… just a footnote, an afterthought. The important part was the Lemony Snicket. Do you not care about Lemony Snicket?!? They’re making a movie. With real people. Which means everything is going to be okay. I mean, for me. The Baudelaire children, of course, are thoroughly screwed. But you knew that already, because certainly you have read the Series of Unfortunate Events. Lemony Snicket!
Second: I am perfectly willing to admit that I like certain passages because they sound nice even when they’re empty of content. That’s how I pick my music, too. I’m half deaf; I never listen to lyrics. I’m half idiot, too, so I don’t often think about what I’m reading too carefully.
Third: I may have been too forgiving in judging these passages to be blog-worthy, but I think you might have been too hasty in dismissing them…no grounding in truth? Do you mean that the truth or falsity of the statements had no part in Kundera’s motivation to write them, or do you actually mean to say that there is nothing truthful in them? The statements may have been pure speculation at the time of writing (1978), for the first real socially-atomized leisure classes had really only started to take shape post WWII, and I can’t think of any country with such a leisure class where there had as yet been a noticeable period of stability. A full test of his theory is unavailable to us. It is not yet falsifiable. So false? Are you sure?
It’s not a bad theory, on the face of it. When too many people expend too much energy talking, it becomes difficult for anyone to listen…particularly when they begin to shout that everyone should be listening to them. But I don’t mean to defend the idea. Really, I posted it because it was in a book I happened to be reading and I thought it had some relevance to the practice of writing little tidbits of trivia for anonymous or non-existent audiences on the internet.
Why was it pleasing? Because it presented a subtle castigation of my own worst tendencies and habits. Why do I like Kundera generally? Because he takes seriously the profane and playful, because he recognizes the importance of memory and its failings, because his novels are not just motion pictures on paper but explorations of themes, clever and compelling conversations, and full of life. He fails often and fails miserably, but when he gets something right, he does it beautifully.
But he’s no Lemony Snicket.
Comment by Michael—26 April 2004 @ 10:57 pm
First, I could learn to love the Lemony. I haven’t read it though, so I hope its ok to talk about blogging and Kundera.
Second, I’m with you on this approach to music and certain passages. The less time I have the more I’m an idiot when I read. As I get older, the guilt fades. So, when I say that it might be all we can ask of an author, I’m being serious.
Third, I don’t mean to dismiss the argument as blatantly false. Just as a side note, I feel there is some danger in eloquently and compellingly putting forth a maxim that can only be confirmed by a novel written to prove its truth. I wholly agree with you, Kundera is a wonderful writer, exudes life and, more than anything, is an explorer. I get worried with this type of writing, though.
Anyway, I’m interested in blogging as an anthropological phenomena. So I’ll not pursue the aforementioned danger and try to address the passage. We can trade thoughts on Kundera another time (preferably after I read more of his work).
Regarding the passage, I would argue that social conflict, strife and the resulting unity of small cohorts is what drives graphomania. Technology is exogenous. It contributes to graphomania the same way it contributes to the production function in economics. Anyway, war and class conflicts unite people and seem to result in tomes. But, maybe I’m putting the cart before the horse. If this is true then the second outcome (the affect effecting), that writing causes further isolation, becomes untrue.
Further, through this wall of mirrors we’re having a discussion. At this point you have to love the irony almost as much as Lemony Snicket.
Is blogging born of isolation? Does it obstruct us from being able to listen? Its an interesting question and one that we’ll never be able to answer because it cannot be tested. Or maybe because we didn’t hear the question (sorry, I couldn’t help myself).
Comment by Friend@Work—27 April 2004 @ 1:58 pm
I feel there is some danger in eloquently and compellingly putting forth a maxim that can only be confirmed by a novel written to prove its truth.
I have to say that, while I agree there is some danger in it, I find this method of argument rather intriguing—to seduce one to belief by showing an idea to be both plausible (at least plausible enough for the artificial constructions of the novel) and interesting. It’s not necessarily a rhetorical technique I admire, but its allure and its effectiveness are fascinating. I might not respect someone for using this technique, but I certainly wouldn’t complain if someone on my side of an argument had it in his arsenal.
I would argue that social conflict, strife and the resulting unity of small cohorts is what drives graphomania. Technology is exogenous. It contributes to graphomania the same way it contributes to the production function in economics.
That is to say arbitrarily, as an afterthought? In the simpler models, technology is whatever is left over that changes production that can’t be chalked up to changes in the variables of real interest (usually capital and labor). Here, I think, we can say that the increasing ease of self-publication and distribution is readily identifiable as a direct contributor to graphomania. I write too much because I can. But I think you’re probably right—social conflict incites many people to write who in calmer times would not be so inclined. More of our writing is pointless drivel when we lack social conflict, but more people may be urged to write when there is some compelling reason to speak out.
Further, through this wall of mirrors we’re having a discussion.
I was afeared that you would raise this point. Kind of kills Kundera’s contention. Yes, you’re right.
Is blogging born of isolation?
Mine is.
Does it obstruct us from being able to listen?
You’ll have to speak up—I’m typing.
Or maybe because we didn’t hear the question
Okay, this was funny. Point taken…
Comment by Michael—29 April 2004 @ 10:53 pm