miercuri, 12 mai 2010
"One's ideal reader is intelligent, alert, open-minded but demanding, and equipped with what Hemingway called "a built-in shit-detector." He/she does not actually exist. In a way you try to be that reader when you read and re-read your own work in progress, and not to kid yourself if something isn't quite right." (David Lodge in an interview by Mark Thwaite)
miercuri, 5 mai 2010
miercuri, 28 aprilie 2010
marți, 27 aprilie 2010
luni, 26 aprilie 2010
joi, 22 aprilie 2010
OST
It is only appropriate that this week's official soundtrack be Minnie Driver's London Skies. It has been, for a while. Still I am more in a kd lang mood today so...
God, this woman sends shivers down mine spine. Her only deffect is that she resemnbles my ex-gf too damn much.
God, this woman sends shivers down mine spine. Her only deffect is that she resemnbles my ex-gf too damn much.
luni, 19 aprilie 2010
Ash... Monday
Grounded. Nothing much, just a sad feeling, seeing my work of four months gone down the drain like that. Of course, it could have been worse. I could have found myself stranded on an airport somewhere. I think I needed closure, that's what it is. You put your heart and soul into something and then you're supposed to see it through and only then you can claim your compensation. In this particular case, being there and seeing it all come together would have made it all worth while. I am feeling a bit tired and frustrated.
I'm not feeling very well health-wise either.
I'm not feeling very well health-wise either.
joi, 1 aprilie 2010
Alberto Manguel's Notes towards a Definition of the Ideal Reader
The ideal reader is the writer just before the words come together
on the page.
The ideal reader exists in the moment that precedes the moment of creation.
The ideal reader does not reconstruct a story: he recreates it.
The ideal reader does not follow a story: he partakes of it.
A famous children’s book programme on the BBC always started with the host asking: “Are you sitting comfortably? Then we shall begin.” The ideal reader is also the ideal sitter.
Depictions of St Jerome show him poised over his translation of the Bible, listening to the word of God. The ideal reader must learn how to listen.
The ideal reader is the translator. He is able to dissect the text, peel back the skin, slice down to the marrow, follow each artery and each vein and then set on its feet a whole new sentient being. The ideal reader is not a taxidermist.
For the ideal reader all devices are familiar.
For the ideal reader all jokes are new.
“One must be an inventor to read well.” Ralph Waldo Emerson.
The ideal reader has an unlimited capacity for oblivion. He can dismiss from his memory the knowledge that Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde are one and the same person, that Julien Sorel will have his head cut off, that the name of the murderer of Roger Ackroyd is So-and-so.
The ideal reader has no interest in the writings of Brett Easton
Ellis.
The ideal reader knows what the writer only intuits.
The ideal reader subverts the text. The ideal reader does not take
the writer’s word for granted.
The ideal reader is a cumulative reader: every time he reads a book
he adds a new layer of memory to the narrative.
Every ideal reader is an associative reader. He reads as if all books
were the work of one ageless and prolific author.
The ideal reader cannot put his knowledge into words.
Upon closing his book, the ideal reader feels that, had he not read
it, the world would be poorer.
The ideal reader has a wicked sense of humour.
The ideal reader never counts his books.
The ideal reader is both generous and greedy.
The ideal reader reads all literature as if it were anonymous.
The ideal reader enjoys using a dictionary.
The ideal reader judges a book by its cover.
Reading a book from centuries ago, the ideal reader feels immortal.
Paolo and Francesca were not ideal readers, since they confess to
Dante that after their first kiss, they read no more. Ideal readers would
have kissed and then read on. One love does not exclude the other.
The ideal reader doesn’t know he is the ideal reader until he has
reached the end of the book.
The ideal reader shares the ethics of Don Quixote, the longing of
Madame Bovary, the lust of the Wife of Bath, the adventurous spirit of Ulysses, the mettle of Holden Caufield, at least for the space of the story.
The ideal reader treads the beaten path. “A good reader, major
reader, an active and creative reader is a rereader.” Vladimir Nabokov.
The ideal reader is polytheistic.
The ideal reader holds, for a book, the promise of resurrection.
Robinson Crusoe is not an ideal reader. He reads the Bible to find
answers. An ideal reader reads to find questions.
Every book, good or bad, has its ideal reader.
For the ideal reader, every book reads, to a certain degree, as his
own autobiography.
The ideal reader has no precise nationality.
Sometimes, a writer must wait several centuries to find his ideal
reader. It took Blake one hundred and fifty years to find Northrop Frye.
Stendhal’s ideal reader: “I write for barely a hundred readers, for
unhappy, amiable, charming beings, never moral or hypocritical, whom I
would like to please; I know barely one or two.”
The ideal reader has known unhappiness.
Ideal readers change with age. The fourteen-year-old ideal reader of Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems is no longer its ideal reader at thirty.
Experience tarnishes certain readings.
Pinochet, who banned Don Quixote because he thought it advocated civil disobedience, was that book’s ideal reader.
The ideal reader never exhausts the book’s geography.
The ideal reader must be willing, not only to suspend disbelief, but to embrace a new faith.
The ideal reader never thinks: “If only...”
Writing on the margins is a sign of the ideal reader.
The ideal reader proselytizes.
The ideal reader is guiltlessly whimsical.
The ideal reader is capable of falling in love with one of the book’s characters.
The ideal reader is not concerned with anachronism, documentary truth, historical accuracy, topographical exactness. The ideal reader is not an archeologist.
The ideal reader is a ruthless enforcer of the rules and regulations that each book creates for itself.
“There are three kinds of readers: one, who enjoys without
judging; a third, who judges without enjoying; another in the middle,
who judges while enjoying and enjoys while judging. The last class truly reproduces a work of art anew; its members are not numerous.” Goethe, in a letter to Johann Friedrich Rochlitz.
The readers who committed suicide after reading Werther were not ideal but merely sentimental readers.
Ideal readers are seldom sentimental.
The ideal reader wishes both to get to the end of the book and to
know that the book will never end.
The ideal reader is never impatient.
The ideal reader is not concerned with genres.
The ideal reader is (or appears to be) more intelligent than the
writer; the ideal reader does not hold this against him.
There comes a time when every reader considers himself to be the ideal reader.
Good intentions are not enough to produce an ideal reader.
The Marquis de Sade: “I only write for those capable of understanding me, and these will read me with no danger.”
The Marquis de Sade is wrong: the ideal reader is always in danger.
The ideal reader is a novel’s main character.
Paul Valéry: “A literary ideal: finally to know not to fill the page
with anything except ‘the reader’.”
The ideal reader is someone the writer would not mind spending an evening with, over a glass of wine.
An ideal reader should not be confused with a virtual reader.
A writer is never his own ideal reader.
Literature depends, not on ideal readers, but merely on good
enough readers.
on the page.
The ideal reader exists in the moment that precedes the moment of creation.
The ideal reader does not reconstruct a story: he recreates it.
The ideal reader does not follow a story: he partakes of it.
A famous children’s book programme on the BBC always started with the host asking: “Are you sitting comfortably? Then we shall begin.” The ideal reader is also the ideal sitter.
Depictions of St Jerome show him poised over his translation of the Bible, listening to the word of God. The ideal reader must learn how to listen.
The ideal reader is the translator. He is able to dissect the text, peel back the skin, slice down to the marrow, follow each artery and each vein and then set on its feet a whole new sentient being. The ideal reader is not a taxidermist.
For the ideal reader all devices are familiar.
For the ideal reader all jokes are new.
“One must be an inventor to read well.” Ralph Waldo Emerson.
The ideal reader has an unlimited capacity for oblivion. He can dismiss from his memory the knowledge that Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde are one and the same person, that Julien Sorel will have his head cut off, that the name of the murderer of Roger Ackroyd is So-and-so.
The ideal reader has no interest in the writings of Brett Easton
Ellis.
The ideal reader knows what the writer only intuits.
The ideal reader subverts the text. The ideal reader does not take
the writer’s word for granted.
The ideal reader is a cumulative reader: every time he reads a book
he adds a new layer of memory to the narrative.
Every ideal reader is an associative reader. He reads as if all books
were the work of one ageless and prolific author.
The ideal reader cannot put his knowledge into words.
Upon closing his book, the ideal reader feels that, had he not read
it, the world would be poorer.
The ideal reader has a wicked sense of humour.
The ideal reader never counts his books.
The ideal reader is both generous and greedy.
The ideal reader reads all literature as if it were anonymous.
The ideal reader enjoys using a dictionary.
The ideal reader judges a book by its cover.
Reading a book from centuries ago, the ideal reader feels immortal.
Paolo and Francesca were not ideal readers, since they confess to
Dante that after their first kiss, they read no more. Ideal readers would
have kissed and then read on. One love does not exclude the other.
The ideal reader doesn’t know he is the ideal reader until he has
reached the end of the book.
The ideal reader shares the ethics of Don Quixote, the longing of
Madame Bovary, the lust of the Wife of Bath, the adventurous spirit of Ulysses, the mettle of Holden Caufield, at least for the space of the story.
The ideal reader treads the beaten path. “A good reader, major
reader, an active and creative reader is a rereader.” Vladimir Nabokov.
The ideal reader is polytheistic.
The ideal reader holds, for a book, the promise of resurrection.
Robinson Crusoe is not an ideal reader. He reads the Bible to find
answers. An ideal reader reads to find questions.
Every book, good or bad, has its ideal reader.
For the ideal reader, every book reads, to a certain degree, as his
own autobiography.
The ideal reader has no precise nationality.
Sometimes, a writer must wait several centuries to find his ideal
reader. It took Blake one hundred and fifty years to find Northrop Frye.
Stendhal’s ideal reader: “I write for barely a hundred readers, for
unhappy, amiable, charming beings, never moral or hypocritical, whom I
would like to please; I know barely one or two.”
The ideal reader has known unhappiness.
Ideal readers change with age. The fourteen-year-old ideal reader of Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems is no longer its ideal reader at thirty.
Experience tarnishes certain readings.
Pinochet, who banned Don Quixote because he thought it advocated civil disobedience, was that book’s ideal reader.
The ideal reader never exhausts the book’s geography.
The ideal reader must be willing, not only to suspend disbelief, but to embrace a new faith.
The ideal reader never thinks: “If only...”
Writing on the margins is a sign of the ideal reader.
The ideal reader proselytizes.
The ideal reader is guiltlessly whimsical.
The ideal reader is capable of falling in love with one of the book’s characters.
The ideal reader is not concerned with anachronism, documentary truth, historical accuracy, topographical exactness. The ideal reader is not an archeologist.
The ideal reader is a ruthless enforcer of the rules and regulations that each book creates for itself.
“There are three kinds of readers: one, who enjoys without
judging; a third, who judges without enjoying; another in the middle,
who judges while enjoying and enjoys while judging. The last class truly reproduces a work of art anew; its members are not numerous.” Goethe, in a letter to Johann Friedrich Rochlitz.
The readers who committed suicide after reading Werther were not ideal but merely sentimental readers.
Ideal readers are seldom sentimental.
The ideal reader wishes both to get to the end of the book and to
know that the book will never end.
The ideal reader is never impatient.
The ideal reader is not concerned with genres.
The ideal reader is (or appears to be) more intelligent than the
writer; the ideal reader does not hold this against him.
There comes a time when every reader considers himself to be the ideal reader.
Good intentions are not enough to produce an ideal reader.
The Marquis de Sade: “I only write for those capable of understanding me, and these will read me with no danger.”
The Marquis de Sade is wrong: the ideal reader is always in danger.
The ideal reader is a novel’s main character.
Paul Valéry: “A literary ideal: finally to know not to fill the page
with anything except ‘the reader’.”
The ideal reader is someone the writer would not mind spending an evening with, over a glass of wine.
An ideal reader should not be confused with a virtual reader.
A writer is never his own ideal reader.
Literature depends, not on ideal readers, but merely on good
enough readers.
marți, 9 martie 2010
well then... Happy birthday to me, I guess!
The celebration started early this year with a lovely piece of chocolate and vanilla cake at the Charlatans and a free glass of champagne (the benefit of being born on March 9th is that I can easily pretend that the freebies I'm getting from pub waiters and such on the 8th are in no way gender bias and I welcome them in anticipation of my birthday). Then a little after midnight a fabulously smelling new Burberry plus an unexpected Colin Firth movie ( a silent part, no sex or bottoms revealed but a C. F. movie nevertheless). Early today a bunch of irises (purple, of course) plus a sample of the new David Gray album.
Bonus: a horrible new haircut (how long before I am fully convinced that offering my skull up for target practice won't help improve my hairdresser's skills since there weren't any to begin with)
The celebration started early this year with a lovely piece of chocolate and vanilla cake at the Charlatans and a free glass of champagne (the benefit of being born on March 9th is that I can easily pretend that the freebies I'm getting from pub waiters and such on the 8th are in no way gender bias and I welcome them in anticipation of my birthday). Then a little after midnight a fabulously smelling new Burberry plus an unexpected Colin Firth movie ( a silent part, no sex or bottoms revealed but a C. F. movie nevertheless). Early today a bunch of irises (purple, of course) plus a sample of the new David Gray album.
Bonus: a horrible new haircut (how long before I am fully convinced that offering my skull up for target practice won't help improve my hairdresser's skills since there weren't any to begin with)
vineri, 19 februarie 2010
Lista
List
Just a sec, I know they’re here somewhere,
if you’d stop rushing me I’d find them.
Perhaps I might have packed them in a case
or wrapped brown paper, tied with string.
They might be in the loft or shed, or , ah! Look now
my crumpled list of Great Good Things to spend
a life upon. And so they must be here…
Under the bed? Or slipped between the pages of a book,
the minutes of a day? Re-check the list. Oh dear.
No ticks. I lost the list and have been busy with
I don’t know what. But there’s still time. Give me
the list, I’ll start today. What do you mean?
Right now? No time to get my coat?
(Maggie Butt)
Lista
Aşteapt-o clipă. Ştiu că-s pe-aici, pe undeva,
de nu m-ai mai zori atât aş da de ele.
Poate că le-am dosit prin vreo valiză
sau le-am împachetat şi le-am legat cu sfoară.
Poate-s prin pod sau prin vreo magazie sau, aaa! Ia te uită!
Lista mea mototolită cu Lucruri Minunate De Facut
În Viaţă. Aşa că trebuie sa fie pe-aici …
Sub pat? Sau poate că le-am strecurat-ntre file prin vreo carte,
minutele zilei? Să mai bifez o dată lista. Vai, mie.
N-am bifat nimic. Am rătăcit lista şi mi-am facut de lucru
cu te miri ce. Dar mai am vreme. Dă-mi
lista. M-apuc de-ndată. Ce vrei sa spui?
Chiar acum? N-am vreme nici măcar să-mi iau paltonul?
(traducerea mea)
Just a sec, I know they’re here somewhere,
if you’d stop rushing me I’d find them.
Perhaps I might have packed them in a case
or wrapped brown paper, tied with string.
They might be in the loft or shed, or , ah! Look now
my crumpled list of Great Good Things to spend
a life upon. And so they must be here…
Under the bed? Or slipped between the pages of a book,
the minutes of a day? Re-check the list. Oh dear.
No ticks. I lost the list and have been busy with
I don’t know what. But there’s still time. Give me
the list, I’ll start today. What do you mean?
Right now? No time to get my coat?
(Maggie Butt)
Lista
Aşteapt-o clipă. Ştiu că-s pe-aici, pe undeva,
de nu m-ai mai zori atât aş da de ele.
Poate că le-am dosit prin vreo valiză
sau le-am împachetat şi le-am legat cu sfoară.
Poate-s prin pod sau prin vreo magazie sau, aaa! Ia te uită!
Lista mea mototolită cu Lucruri Minunate De Facut
În Viaţă. Aşa că trebuie sa fie pe-aici …
Sub pat? Sau poate că le-am strecurat-ntre file prin vreo carte,
minutele zilei? Să mai bifez o dată lista. Vai, mie.
N-am bifat nimic. Am rătăcit lista şi mi-am facut de lucru
cu te miri ce. Dar mai am vreme. Dă-mi
lista. M-apuc de-ndată. Ce vrei sa spui?
Chiar acum? N-am vreme nici măcar să-mi iau paltonul?
(traducerea mea)
vineri, 12 februarie 2010
pieces of me
Tom Ford, a great novel, the 60s plus His Royal Englishness, Mr Colin Firth, that should make a great recipe for an all-time personal favourite.
miercuri, 10 februarie 2010
Random thoughts
Absolut întâmplător, îmi dau seama acum, scrierile mele preferate (top trei din toate timpurile) aparţin unor bărbaţi şi au în centru destrămarea unei căsnicii. Sunt curioasă dacă scumpa doamnă Hughes va reuşi să răstoarne această ierarhie cu propriul mariaj funest şi cu prolepsa lui de 600 de pagini.
marți, 9 februarie 2010
They have made their cities
Functional and swift.
You cannot have your April
Virginal and solitary
Any more.
She comes screaming
And tittering
In purple and red flowers
Along the landscaped park;
She has blattant breasts
And the bright lipsticked mouth
Of a Broadway chorus girl.
She is featured lately
In a lownecked silk blouse
On the cover of Life magazine.
(Sylvia Plath, The Journals of, 1950 - 1962)
marți, 2 februarie 2010
Sherlock Holmes
Am văzut filmul. Recunosc că eram curioasă, dar, mai mult decât atât, am de scris o compunere despre el pentru vacanţă. Surprinzător de neguyritchesc în general iar mărcile specifice, acolo unde sunt, nu sunt foarte supărătoare. Sau nu atât de tare ca CGI-ul de care s-a abuzat îngrozitor (şi) în filmul ăsta. Dacă vreau să văd desene animate, stau acasă şi mă uit la Bambi. O să mă duc numai la filme cu Hugh Grant că la alea n-au ce să deseneze pe computer. M-am săturat de scenarii forţate ca să facă loc cât mai multor desene animate. Nu mai vreau poduri prăbuşite, explozii spectaculoase, m-am săturat de londre în culori neverosimile chiar şi pentru o londră a începutului de secol XX. Jocul lui Downey Jr. e foarte bun, atât doar că personajul nu e Holmes.
miercuri, 20 ianuarie 2010
vineri, 8 ianuarie 2010
Veghea lui Finnegan
"Foarte rar dai peste un cititor al lui Proust sau peste un zănatec care să fi memorat pagini întregi din Veghea lui Finnegan. Şi eu, când sînt întrebat de Finnegan, îmi place să răspund că o păstrez s-o citesc la casa de bătrâni. E preferabil să păşeşti în eternitate cu Anna Livia Plurabelle decât cu Simpsonii bîţîindu-se pe ecranul televizorului." (Saul Bellow, Ravelstein)
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