....audiences are dead.
It's true. Audiences sit themselves down in their seats and watch theater through hawk eyes just looking for something to dislike, looking for a way to be unsatisfied with the product. They want to be impressed so instead of experiencing what is happening, they are thinking about how much better it could be if they were watching a different play.
But it's not a different play. It's the play that's going on right before you.
I'm not trying to say that every play out there is amazing and deserves the unquestioning adoration of an audience- but a lot don't get a chance.
Yeah, there are a lot of other problems, but I just noticed it tonight, watching a play at my school. When I looked at the audience, it was like they were all brain dead. They may as well have been drooling. And yeah, the play had problems, but none that detracted from the overall experience- it was awesome. I loved it.
But there were some people who had decided to judge it three weeks ago and were continuing to do so right there. I just wonder how theater would be if people could just sit there and experience theater, just experience it for what it is and don't think "Well if that" or "That should have been like that" or anything like that. And it's not like I haven't done it, but I just thought of this tonight and it makes sense in this moment so that's what I have to say.
Thanks.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Revelation
So for my Directing Shakespeare class, we have to choose a key phrase from the act that moves us or tugs at our emotional side and I kind of lost it when I was writing out my explanation for my key phrase so I'm going to post it here because I never have anything to say but this says something so why not read it.
I love run on sentences.
.................
“Words, words, words.”
These are just words, words, words.
Words you know, that you have spoken and come across everyday arranged in a different way. How can one be so ignorant. It is the mysteries that Shakespeare whispers that haunt us, even to this very day, that we may not escape!
Those lines are from a play I wrote called The Old Man in the Woods in which a hermit and a papergirl befriend one another and bond over the acting out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. In this monologue, I explored the idea of how Shakespeare is so intimidating to so many, yet he is just words. Words, words. And at the same time, he is so much more.
And that is the paradox of life. We are only an adaptation of emotion, yet words are the easiest, most natural way to try to connect. And the faultiest because they mean nothing yet hold everything.
It’s one of the simplest lines ever constructed and one of the most complex ever written.
He’s expressing how words have no meaning, how they are meaningless to him in this moment of utter frustration and confusion as he sinks deeper and deeper into madness. How he would live without words yet the play could not exist without words.
It’s the struggle of life both narrowed down and complicated into three wordswordswords.
Later on in the scene, he also says “Except my life, except my life, except my life.” Are you kidding me?! Do you see how brilliant that is, how utterly BRILLIANT? He’s saying three words three times. They are a reflection of the original, of words, words, words. And that is the essence of life. We start out with words, words, words and then add a word, add a word, add a word and then those words mean something more and then those words mean something more and then those words mean something more but at the same time, they are belittled when they are repeated.
The importance of language is choosing your words words words carefully, by hand picking them and placing them in a sequence that will bring you closest to what you truly wish to say, to breaking down the barrier.
It’s my heart beating that makes me know I’m not just analyzing the crap out of a phrase in the scene. It’s my heart pounding and my shallow breathing and my eyes tearing that make me realize it’s something more.
I love run on sentences.
.................
“Words, words, words.”
These are just words, words, words.
Words you know, that you have spoken and come across everyday arranged in a different way. How can one be so ignorant. It is the mysteries that Shakespeare whispers that haunt us, even to this very day, that we may not escape!
Those lines are from a play I wrote called The Old Man in the Woods in which a hermit and a papergirl befriend one another and bond over the acting out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. In this monologue, I explored the idea of how Shakespeare is so intimidating to so many, yet he is just words. Words, words. And at the same time, he is so much more.
And that is the paradox of life. We are only an adaptation of emotion, yet words are the easiest, most natural way to try to connect. And the faultiest because they mean nothing yet hold everything.
It’s one of the simplest lines ever constructed and one of the most complex ever written.
He’s expressing how words have no meaning, how they are meaningless to him in this moment of utter frustration and confusion as he sinks deeper and deeper into madness. How he would live without words yet the play could not exist without words.
It’s the struggle of life both narrowed down and complicated into three wordswordswords.
Later on in the scene, he also says “Except my life, except my life, except my life.” Are you kidding me?! Do you see how brilliant that is, how utterly BRILLIANT? He’s saying three words three times. They are a reflection of the original, of words, words, words. And that is the essence of life. We start out with words, words, words and then add a word, add a word, add a word and then those words mean something more and then those words mean something more and then those words mean something more but at the same time, they are belittled when they are repeated.
The importance of language is choosing your words words words carefully, by hand picking them and placing them in a sequence that will bring you closest to what you truly wish to say, to breaking down the barrier.
It’s my heart beating that makes me know I’m not just analyzing the crap out of a phrase in the scene. It’s my heart pounding and my shallow breathing and my eyes tearing that make me realize it’s something more.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
My schedule!
After anxiously holding my breath for three days, I have finally found out what my schedule for Sarah Lawrence will be! I only didn't get into Costume Design, which bums me out but is probably for the best. I had really wanted to take 7 classes instead of 6, too, but I technically will be when I get placed for a singing lesson so that might be a factor. I don't know what goes on behind the scenes of deciding schedules, I only know it must be a headache for everybody involved and I'm just happy I didn't get a phone call telling me to go in for alternate interviews. WOO!
So without any more rambling, here it is:
Monday: Improvisation lab 11:05-1:00
Playwright's Workshop 3:30-5:30
Tuesday: Directing for Shakespeare 9:00-10:55
Writer's Gym 11:05-1:00
Wednesday: Creativity Workshop 9:00-1:00
Thursday: Directing for Shakespeare 9:00-10:55
Improvisation Lab 11:05-1:00
Set Design I 1:30-3:30
Musical Theater Lab 3:30-5:30
Friday: Graduate Seminar 3:40-5:30 or something like that, I forget.
I really do wish I was taking one more class, but maybe something will open up in the Spring. The only other thing I would have taken would have been a different playwriting workshop and that wouldn't have been a possibility to take three playwriting classes, so there's really nothing to complain about! YaaaaY!
So without any more rambling, here it is:
Monday: Improvisation lab 11:05-1:00
Playwright's Workshop 3:30-5:30
Tuesday: Directing for Shakespeare 9:00-10:55
Writer's Gym 11:05-1:00
Wednesday: Creativity Workshop 9:00-1:00
Thursday: Directing for Shakespeare 9:00-10:55
Improvisation Lab 11:05-1:00
Set Design I 1:30-3:30
Musical Theater Lab 3:30-5:30
Friday: Graduate Seminar 3:40-5:30 or something like that, I forget.
I really do wish I was taking one more class, but maybe something will open up in the Spring. The only other thing I would have taken would have been a different playwriting workshop and that wouldn't have been a possibility to take three playwriting classes, so there's really nothing to complain about! YaaaaY!
Thursday, September 3, 2009
The Beauty of Childhood
As I walked home from Sarah Lawrence, with my head facing the ground and my feet skidding along the concrete with weariness, I passed by a little girl on a bike in the middle of the sidewalk. She was sucking on something colorful, a gogurt or an ice.
I was looking at the gogurt and trying to decide what it was, but she mistook me for looking at her. So she waved and said hello. I tried to find who she was addressing, but it was me. She was looking at my eyes and waited patiently for me to say hello back. I did and she stuck her gogurt in her mouth and petaled away.
All I could think about the rest of the way home was how special children are and how people who worship Peter Pan often worship him for the wrong reasons. The perpetual child is not one who has no cares or worries in the world, they are one who is not inhibited by fear. Those who want to be Peter Pan are often afraid of growing up. If you were truly to be his shadow, you would realize how complicated it truly is.
You must keep the spirit of childhood alive within you while simultaneously allowing yourself to grow. It becomes more and more delicate as you grow older, but it's worth remembering and considering. At least I think so.
I was looking at the gogurt and trying to decide what it was, but she mistook me for looking at her. So she waved and said hello. I tried to find who she was addressing, but it was me. She was looking at my eyes and waited patiently for me to say hello back. I did and she stuck her gogurt in her mouth and petaled away.
All I could think about the rest of the way home was how special children are and how people who worship Peter Pan often worship him for the wrong reasons. The perpetual child is not one who has no cares or worries in the world, they are one who is not inhibited by fear. Those who want to be Peter Pan are often afraid of growing up. If you were truly to be his shadow, you would realize how complicated it truly is.
You must keep the spirit of childhood alive within you while simultaneously allowing yourself to grow. It becomes more and more delicate as you grow older, but it's worth remembering and considering. At least I think so.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
I Think I'll Stick to Writing...
...and leave singing in the closet, to be taken off a shelf and worn when I feel like it rather than relying on it to propell me forward.
Feel like you've been thrown in the midst of a conversatiotion you weren't privy to? Maybe I should put writing on the same shelf then.
To backtrack, I have officially started at Sarah Lawrence with the interviewing and all that fun stuff. So I hear about a class that is totally up my alley: New Musical Theater Lab in which you write songs and form a musical by the end of the class. The one problem: there's a singing audition and twelve slots available.
UGH.
When I met with the teacher, she made it seem like I was guaranteed a spot. How? Like this : "Come to the audition, I'll take you regardless, you're in the class."
Great, I say. I'm in, I say. She gives me sheet music, but I practice without an accompaniest because hello, how else am I going to practice it?
Have you ever sung a song with an accompaniest whose actually playing what's written and not what you thought the song initially sounded like?
UGH.
Some of the notes sounded wrong and my nerves took over. And who could tell what the outcome really was, but she asked me if I was interested in taking any of her OTHER classes.
OTHER.
As in not this one. I don't know, MAYBE I'm looking too into it, and MAYBE I'm getting my period so MAYBE this is PMS but I don't know. Do I know, no sir, I do not know.
Oh well. There's always NEXT year. -_-
If I survive this one.
'Til then.
Me.
EDIT: I got into the class. =D
Feel like you've been thrown in the midst of a conversatiotion you weren't privy to? Maybe I should put writing on the same shelf then.
To backtrack, I have officially started at Sarah Lawrence with the interviewing and all that fun stuff. So I hear about a class that is totally up my alley: New Musical Theater Lab in which you write songs and form a musical by the end of the class. The one problem: there's a singing audition and twelve slots available.
UGH.
When I met with the teacher, she made it seem like I was guaranteed a spot. How? Like this : "Come to the audition, I'll take you regardless, you're in the class."
Great, I say. I'm in, I say. She gives me sheet music, but I practice without an accompaniest because hello, how else am I going to practice it?
Have you ever sung a song with an accompaniest whose actually playing what's written and not what you thought the song initially sounded like?
UGH.
Some of the notes sounded wrong and my nerves took over. And who could tell what the outcome really was, but she asked me if I was interested in taking any of her OTHER classes.
OTHER.
As in not this one. I don't know, MAYBE I'm looking too into it, and MAYBE I'm getting my period so MAYBE this is PMS but I don't know. Do I know, no sir, I do not know.
Oh well. There's always NEXT year. -_-
If I survive this one.
'Til then.
Me.
EDIT: I got into the class. =D
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Back from the World of Dreams
I'm pretty happy with having a valid excuse for not writing for weeks, being that I was in DisneyWorld and immediatly moved into my apartment not even two days after being back. And I had started writing a blog on one of those two days but it is now lost to the netherworld of scattered ideas that will never find a home.
I vaguly remember it being about how DisneyWorld revitalized my creativity and inspiration, but it was so well worded that I don't have the heart to try to re-create it. I'm the only one who'll miss its presence, anyway.
Right now I'm trying to learn everything I can about Walt Disney, starting with a biography of him written in the 80s in which he's portrayed as a monster. Its more interesting than everything that portrays him as a saint, but it's pretty annoying when you can tell that things are being purposely twisted. But I guess in our society, the man has been turned into a myth and is now equated with something more like Santa Claus than a human. And when people find out that he wasn't a jolly man who waved his hands and produced magic from thin air, they get confused and indignant.
I would love to become an imagineer, though. Because you can't deny that they bring joy to thousands of people everyday, and that's a completely appealing career to me. Remembering that it's a viable career choice is the challange.
Anyway, I'm just brushing up on my theatre history by re-skimming plays before tomorrow's oral exam that'll determine whether or not I have to take the Theatre History course at Sarah Lawrence. Thank God I just went through college otherwise their list would have made me pass out. I will post it here for my general amusement and procrastination. Paranthesis hold my choice when applicable.
The Orestia
Oedipus Rex
A play by Euripides (The Bacchae)
A play by Aristophanes (The Birds)
Aristotles' Poetics
Shakespeare: 2 tragedies, 2 comedies, 2 histories and a romance (King Lear, Hamlet, Midsummer Night's Dream, As You Like It, Richard II, Richard III and The Tempest)
A play by Cornielle or Racine (Racine, Britanicus)
A play by Moliere (Tartuffe)
A play from the Spanish Golden Age ( I couldn't find one to read, but I researched Lope de Vega, the period's hotshot playwright).
Restoration Comedy (The Country Wife)
A play by Goldsmith or Sheridan (this I didn't do)
Woychek
Two plays by Ibsen (Hedda Gabler and Doll's House)
Two full-lengths by Chekhov (The Cherry Orchard and The Seagull)
Two plays by Strindberg (The Ghost Sonata and Miss. Julie)
A play by George Bernard Shaw (Major Barbara)
A play by Brecht (Mother Courage)
Two plays by Eugene O'Neil (Long Day's Journey and The Iceman Lalala)
Two plays by Tennessee Williams (Streetcard Named Desire and Glass Menagerie)
Two plays by Arthur Miller (Death of a Salesman and All My Sons)
A Raison in the Sun
A classic "book" musical (Carousel)
A play by Ionesco (Rhinocerous)
Two plays by Beckett (Waiting for Godot and Endgame)
That actually helped me realize I know more than I think I do. I'm still nervous for the oral exam, mainly because it's oral and I suck at speaking exams.
There's a picnic at 3 that I'm trying not to wuss out of going to - I just hate standing around awkwardly, especially in an outdoor area. BAH! I'll try to force myself out, maybe just due to pure starvation (we didn't really go grocery shopping yet....).
Meanwhile, I will continue to look over stuff in the hope of not having to take Theatre History!
'Til then.
I vaguly remember it being about how DisneyWorld revitalized my creativity and inspiration, but it was so well worded that I don't have the heart to try to re-create it. I'm the only one who'll miss its presence, anyway.
Right now I'm trying to learn everything I can about Walt Disney, starting with a biography of him written in the 80s in which he's portrayed as a monster. Its more interesting than everything that portrays him as a saint, but it's pretty annoying when you can tell that things are being purposely twisted. But I guess in our society, the man has been turned into a myth and is now equated with something more like Santa Claus than a human. And when people find out that he wasn't a jolly man who waved his hands and produced magic from thin air, they get confused and indignant.
I would love to become an imagineer, though. Because you can't deny that they bring joy to thousands of people everyday, and that's a completely appealing career to me. Remembering that it's a viable career choice is the challange.
Anyway, I'm just brushing up on my theatre history by re-skimming plays before tomorrow's oral exam that'll determine whether or not I have to take the Theatre History course at Sarah Lawrence. Thank God I just went through college otherwise their list would have made me pass out. I will post it here for my general amusement and procrastination. Paranthesis hold my choice when applicable.
The Orestia
Oedipus Rex
A play by Euripides (The Bacchae)
A play by Aristophanes (The Birds)
Aristotles' Poetics
Shakespeare: 2 tragedies, 2 comedies, 2 histories and a romance (King Lear, Hamlet, Midsummer Night's Dream, As You Like It, Richard II, Richard III and The Tempest)
A play by Cornielle or Racine (Racine, Britanicus)
A play by Moliere (Tartuffe)
A play from the Spanish Golden Age ( I couldn't find one to read, but I researched Lope de Vega, the period's hotshot playwright).
Restoration Comedy (The Country Wife)
A play by Goldsmith or Sheridan (this I didn't do)
Woychek
Two plays by Ibsen (Hedda Gabler and Doll's House)
Two full-lengths by Chekhov (The Cherry Orchard and The Seagull)
Two plays by Strindberg (The Ghost Sonata and Miss. Julie)
A play by George Bernard Shaw (Major Barbara)
A play by Brecht (Mother Courage)
Two plays by Eugene O'Neil (Long Day's Journey and The Iceman Lalala)
Two plays by Tennessee Williams (Streetcard Named Desire and Glass Menagerie)
Two plays by Arthur Miller (Death of a Salesman and All My Sons)
A Raison in the Sun
A classic "book" musical (Carousel)
A play by Ionesco (Rhinocerous)
Two plays by Beckett (Waiting for Godot and Endgame)
That actually helped me realize I know more than I think I do. I'm still nervous for the oral exam, mainly because it's oral and I suck at speaking exams.
There's a picnic at 3 that I'm trying not to wuss out of going to - I just hate standing around awkwardly, especially in an outdoor area. BAH! I'll try to force myself out, maybe just due to pure starvation (we didn't really go grocery shopping yet....).
Meanwhile, I will continue to look over stuff in the hope of not having to take Theatre History!
'Til then.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Isolation
The theme of isolation is one of the biggeset themes my writing seems to deal with. The fascination of the desire for one to be isolated while fighting the basic need of human contact. What is it that makes us feel so safe, cloaked in a world of our own? And why can't we ultimately stay there?
Although I'm "primarily" a playwright (I say primarily because I have a degree saying so, so might as well), I've been trying to write a fantasy novel for about two years (playwriting also gets in the way of writing it, so I suppose I am primarily a playwright).
While I sit at my crappy temp job (can I get a hollar??) I've been writing piece of this novel in an attempt to come closer to a conclusion before grad school rips away what free time (and desire) I have. My protagonist is one who wishes to be alone because of various fantasy-related events that happened in her life. I realized pretty quickly how boring that is by writing other, more vibrant characters to surround her with. I was unable to keep her a solitary character throughout the novel not only because of its inpracticallity, but because I realized she ultimately does not wish to be alone.
But I realized the main conflict also has to do with isolation. And then the sub-conflict also has to do with isolation.
Is this just a theme that defines me and my writing? Or is this the struggle that bleeds through every piece of literature? Is the desire to isolate ourselves and the struggle to do so why the written word was invented? And is that why we read? We wrap ourselves around stories, but in doing so we open doors to enter into populated worlds in which we become part of. Do we become a part of everyone, the very history of humankind, while we read?
It is a struggle to remain isolated. We must work harder to shield ourselves from the world than accept the company of others. At least that's how it seems.
Although I'm "primarily" a playwright (I say primarily because I have a degree saying so, so might as well), I've been trying to write a fantasy novel for about two years (playwriting also gets in the way of writing it, so I suppose I am primarily a playwright).
While I sit at my crappy temp job (can I get a hollar??) I've been writing piece of this novel in an attempt to come closer to a conclusion before grad school rips away what free time (and desire) I have. My protagonist is one who wishes to be alone because of various fantasy-related events that happened in her life. I realized pretty quickly how boring that is by writing other, more vibrant characters to surround her with. I was unable to keep her a solitary character throughout the novel not only because of its inpracticallity, but because I realized she ultimately does not wish to be alone.
But I realized the main conflict also has to do with isolation. And then the sub-conflict also has to do with isolation.
Is this just a theme that defines me and my writing? Or is this the struggle that bleeds through every piece of literature? Is the desire to isolate ourselves and the struggle to do so why the written word was invented? And is that why we read? We wrap ourselves around stories, but in doing so we open doors to enter into populated worlds in which we become part of. Do we become a part of everyone, the very history of humankind, while we read?
It is a struggle to remain isolated. We must work harder to shield ourselves from the world than accept the company of others. At least that's how it seems.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Some People are meant to have blogs...
...and some are meant to fly.
Hello again.
Blogging is as much of a skill as is writing a play or being an accountant; and I have written plays but I suck at numbers.
There's just something about the sitting down to spill your thoughts to the cosmos that helps procrastinate the writing. But the whole point (well partly) of starting this blog was to help me with my procrastination and just attempt to write my thoughts coherently.
FAIL.
But that's all right. One of the traits I most pride myself is my ability to admit defeat. Because only when you make the admittance can you fix what you failed.
It's wise, I know.
So I will start again. Hopefully there will still be some eyes lurking in the dark. But even if there's not, one should only do things for oneself. Because that's ultimately when you can begin to help others.
Smile.
Hello again.
Blogging is as much of a skill as is writing a play or being an accountant; and I have written plays but I suck at numbers.
There's just something about the sitting down to spill your thoughts to the cosmos that helps procrastinate the writing. But the whole point (well partly) of starting this blog was to help me with my procrastination and just attempt to write my thoughts coherently.
FAIL.
But that's all right. One of the traits I most pride myself is my ability to admit defeat. Because only when you make the admittance can you fix what you failed.
It's wise, I know.
So I will start again. Hopefully there will still be some eyes lurking in the dark. But even if there's not, one should only do things for oneself. Because that's ultimately when you can begin to help others.
Smile.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Dell and Hell rhyme for a reason
And that reason is because hell sent Dell here to give us a taste of what it's going to be like in the afterlife if we choose that path to follow in life. Do you understand me?!
My "new" Dell has broken down three seperate times in the SIX MONTHS I have had it. WHAT?! Is that like a new record or something? Can we get that in the Guiness Book of (meaningless) World Records, please?
But it's not only the fact the computer is broken. No, I can deal, things happen, wires cross and batteries fry, it's only flawed technology after all, but it's the HUMAN part that gets me. The "customer service".
Yes, I understand we're all trying to make a living and these poor people must deal with the brunt of complaints and anger that they don't deserve (exhibit A. - Bloggers blogging about the inability of Dell to do good), but here's the thing: I chatted with them FOUR times. On June 11th, after 3 conversations via computer chat, they said they fixed the problem completely. The problem resurfaced June 14th. So I finally had a chance to sit down with them and chat via the internet again today. After an hour, we were disconnected and the customer service guy called me. Which was nice, that was very nice. Cons?
HE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND A WORD I SAID! I understood him, but he could not understand me. After thirty minutes of me repeating everything he and I said, he told me that he would call me back in twenty minutes.
It's been FOUR HOURS. I'm ready to just throw it in the sink, turn the water on, pour gasoline on it and light it on fire. Because whatever this latest guy did looks like it made it worse. Worse! It's a sick talent with them A SICK TALENT!
I still don't want a Mac, I want a PC but Dells....well, they can go to
Love,
Gina
My "new" Dell has broken down three seperate times in the SIX MONTHS I have had it. WHAT?! Is that like a new record or something? Can we get that in the Guiness Book of (meaningless) World Records, please?
But it's not only the fact the computer is broken. No, I can deal, things happen, wires cross and batteries fry, it's only flawed technology after all, but it's the HUMAN part that gets me. The "customer service".
Yes, I understand we're all trying to make a living and these poor people must deal with the brunt of complaints and anger that they don't deserve (exhibit A. - Bloggers blogging about the inability of Dell to do good), but here's the thing: I chatted with them FOUR times. On June 11th, after 3 conversations via computer chat, they said they fixed the problem completely. The problem resurfaced June 14th. So I finally had a chance to sit down with them and chat via the internet again today. After an hour, we were disconnected and the customer service guy called me. Which was nice, that was very nice. Cons?
HE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND A WORD I SAID! I understood him, but he could not understand me. After thirty minutes of me repeating everything he and I said, he told me that he would call me back in twenty minutes.
It's been FOUR HOURS. I'm ready to just throw it in the sink, turn the water on, pour gasoline on it and light it on fire. Because whatever this latest guy did looks like it made it worse. Worse! It's a sick talent with them A SICK TALENT!
I still don't want a Mac, I want a PC but Dells....well, they can go to
Love,
Gina
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The Reader by Bernhard Schlink- A Review Void of Spoilers
A book written about me.
Not really.
It was really beautifully written. A translation from the German, there was a stiffness to the words and some of the phrases that seems impossible to erase from English. Even though the German language sounds so harsh and gutteral to my weak ears, I'm sure it's beautiful to those who understand it.
There were actually many references to German literature in the novel, great German authors that defined the literature of the nation who were strangers to me. I wonder who from America makes their way over the seas to be representatives of us. If any.
The author is a judge in Germany, which is suspected not only due to the vibrant courtroom scenes or the general knowledge of law, but the winding discourses on what makes law. They could potentially be read as tedious interludes from the mystery and are sometimes frustrating interuptions, but they add to the overall complexity of the story.
Even when it ended, it felt it had just begun. The narrative wrapped itself around different layers of the past, co-mingling faulty memories so a chapter would shift in time as much as dunes of sand caught in the wind. We are placed inside a spider's web that we wind ourselves out of us much as the narrator, Michael Berg, who writes this story so he could tell it. So it may exist outside himself and be a part of the world.
I can make no comparisons to the movie, though the cover has the unfortunate burden of being the movie poster. I can see why this novel was translated, though how it was turned into a movie is pretty beyond me. Hollywood probably worked their watering down magic and beefed up Hanna's part to make a strong independent martyered female lead capable of winning Best Actress.
Anyway, everybody should read this book who like the following things:
a. Things originally written in German
b. Fantasizing about Kate Winslet in a tub
c. Imagining how your head would look on Kate Winslet's body
No, I'm joking. You should really read it if you are interested in:
a. Nazism and the history of the Holocaust
b. Law
c. Secrets
I'm OOT. For now.
Not really.
It was really beautifully written. A translation from the German, there was a stiffness to the words and some of the phrases that seems impossible to erase from English. Even though the German language sounds so harsh and gutteral to my weak ears, I'm sure it's beautiful to those who understand it.
There were actually many references to German literature in the novel, great German authors that defined the literature of the nation who were strangers to me. I wonder who from America makes their way over the seas to be representatives of us. If any.
The author is a judge in Germany, which is suspected not only due to the vibrant courtroom scenes or the general knowledge of law, but the winding discourses on what makes law. They could potentially be read as tedious interludes from the mystery and are sometimes frustrating interuptions, but they add to the overall complexity of the story.
Even when it ended, it felt it had just begun. The narrative wrapped itself around different layers of the past, co-mingling faulty memories so a chapter would shift in time as much as dunes of sand caught in the wind. We are placed inside a spider's web that we wind ourselves out of us much as the narrator, Michael Berg, who writes this story so he could tell it. So it may exist outside himself and be a part of the world.
I can make no comparisons to the movie, though the cover has the unfortunate burden of being the movie poster. I can see why this novel was translated, though how it was turned into a movie is pretty beyond me. Hollywood probably worked their watering down magic and beefed up Hanna's part to make a strong independent martyered female lead capable of winning Best Actress.
Anyway, everybody should read this book who like the following things:
a. Things originally written in German
b. Fantasizing about Kate Winslet in a tub
c. Imagining how your head would look on Kate Winslet's body
No, I'm joking. You should really read it if you are interested in:
a. Nazism and the history of the Holocaust
b. Law
c. Secrets
I'm OOT. For now.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Everybody needs a blog
Everybody needs a blog, right?
It seems like that's true. I scan through blogs, amazed at how much people have to say three to four times a day. I marvel at how easy they make writing these things seem, at all the words falling from their fingertips to disperse amongst the infinite etherworld, at how I'm reading the secrets and anecdotes of perfect strangers.
I've never really been able to do this and every blog I've attempted to maintain has begun with this same statement. Even now I keep drifting into thoughtlessness, a gray foggy area that holds no words.
What's the power of opinion? The power that makes us verbally vomit over everyone and everything. What makes us want to share pieces of ourselves with the world? To create a persona that's only a reflection of ourselves, carefully shaped and crafted by what we choose to share and created in the eyes of those who read.
I'm not going to make any grandeoise statements- I'm just going to document pieces of myself, as they appear. Maybe I'll learn something.
It seems like that's true. I scan through blogs, amazed at how much people have to say three to four times a day. I marvel at how easy they make writing these things seem, at all the words falling from their fingertips to disperse amongst the infinite etherworld, at how I'm reading the secrets and anecdotes of perfect strangers.
I've never really been able to do this and every blog I've attempted to maintain has begun with this same statement. Even now I keep drifting into thoughtlessness, a gray foggy area that holds no words.
What's the power of opinion? The power that makes us verbally vomit over everyone and everything. What makes us want to share pieces of ourselves with the world? To create a persona that's only a reflection of ourselves, carefully shaped and crafted by what we choose to share and created in the eyes of those who read.
I'm not going to make any grandeoise statements- I'm just going to document pieces of myself, as they appear. Maybe I'll learn something.
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