Sep. 9th, 2013 04:13 pm
Inexplicable
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muckefuckI've finally reached the halfway point with Özdamar. (Did I tell you all I was reading her? I no longer remember.) Obviously it's not unputdownable or I'd be finished with it already, but it's very readable and enjoyable. She has a charmingly distinct voice and, as I told the GWO the other night, it's very refreshing to read something in German where the words I don't know are few and far between.
A couple chapters ago, I had a revelation regarding what appeals to me in literary writing. The narrator is taken to apartment of a friend of a friend to share a room for the night with his grandfather, who is "an old Social Democrat and half blind". After chatting with her for a bit, he asks for her hand. He holds it in his for "a few minutes", then takes that hand, places it over his nose, and falls asleep. Why? This is never explained. Explaining it, in fact, would only weaken the impact and impede the narrative.
This was far from the first mysterious or inexplicable incident in the course of the novel, and it made me realise one of the things I was missing in Jemisin. Ordinary Germans living a mere twenty-five years before I lived alongside them seem more exotic and strange than her ancient gods or fantasyland inhabitants. People do a lot of things which not even they could explain when pressed, even when they've spent their whole lives pondering their behaviour. So I instinctively distrust neat explanations. This doesn't mean I'm not interested in motivations--a book where things just happen with no rhyme or reason hardly deserves to be designated a "narrative". But it's more intriguing to have a little murkiness into which to project your own speculations.
This was all brought to mind again yesterday when I was watching Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. What a deathly dull waste of pixels. I've never read the books, but I have to assume the narratives have been flattened by a perceived need to explain everything so that even the dullest moviegoers can follow the plot developments. Otherwise I can't see why anyone I respect would be interested in reading them.
This installment was also gravely lacking in any of the whimsy or creative flair that might've provided welcome distraction from either the simpleminded main plot or the even more simpleminded romantic subplots. Again, I'm not sure if this is merely true to the book or, since they're getting longer, more needs to be excised to keep from loosing focus over two-and-a-half hours of running time.
A couple chapters ago, I had a revelation regarding what appeals to me in literary writing. The narrator is taken to apartment of a friend of a friend to share a room for the night with his grandfather, who is "an old Social Democrat and half blind". After chatting with her for a bit, he asks for her hand. He holds it in his for "a few minutes", then takes that hand, places it over his nose, and falls asleep. Why? This is never explained. Explaining it, in fact, would only weaken the impact and impede the narrative.
This was far from the first mysterious or inexplicable incident in the course of the novel, and it made me realise one of the things I was missing in Jemisin. Ordinary Germans living a mere twenty-five years before I lived alongside them seem more exotic and strange than her ancient gods or fantasyland inhabitants. People do a lot of things which not even they could explain when pressed, even when they've spent their whole lives pondering their behaviour. So I instinctively distrust neat explanations. This doesn't mean I'm not interested in motivations--a book where things just happen with no rhyme or reason hardly deserves to be designated a "narrative". But it's more intriguing to have a little murkiness into which to project your own speculations.
This was all brought to mind again yesterday when I was watching Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. What a deathly dull waste of pixels. I've never read the books, but I have to assume the narratives have been flattened by a perceived need to explain everything so that even the dullest moviegoers can follow the plot developments. Otherwise I can't see why anyone I respect would be interested in reading them.
This installment was also gravely lacking in any of the whimsy or creative flair that might've provided welcome distraction from either the simpleminded main plot or the even more simpleminded romantic subplots. Again, I'm not sure if this is merely true to the book or, since they're getting longer, more needs to be excised to keep from loosing focus over two-and-a-half hours of running time.