Thursday, February 23, 2006
I've found that its impossible to capture the essence of piece of literature in a sentence or a minute, but forty-five minutes of trying, with the cooperation of other readers, can somehow illuminate it significantly -- on rare occasions (like this morning) to the point of ecstatic clarity. It's like the thinking of my students in proximity to my own thinking creates this glowing intellectual hologram floating in the ether above our heads in front of the whipe-board, powered by our dialogue; the effect is not unlike when, in Temple of Doom, the sacred Shankara stones are brought together, causing each to incandesce. Somehow, a few dozen imperfect attempts at comprehending meaning interlock, form bonds to fill in gaps, and suddenly, briefly, the text is fully glimpsed -- like when the monster is finally revealed in a horror film.
And moments later, here I am trying to blow on the cooling coals of this discussion. The students are now taking Chemistry notes and I am in my apartment listening to "Queen Jane Approximately" and trying to catch pieces of the understanding we built together last period before they skitter away.
The novel: Flannery O'Connor's Wise Blood. We found out why freaks make such good subject matter, why it make sense for Enoch to become an animal, why Hazel Motes punishes himself so medievally in modern times, and maybe what O'Connor had in mind when she came to write the 14th and final chapter in her first novel. I could try and explicate these discoveries further, but already the sparks have vanished even from the inside of my eyelids.
The wonderful thing about really feeling a text (or a song or a film) severely for a moment is the latent possibility that another conversation can re-illumine everything, can even refine it or alter it altogether.
And moments later, here I am trying to blow on the cooling coals of this discussion. The students are now taking Chemistry notes and I am in my apartment listening to "Queen Jane Approximately" and trying to catch pieces of the understanding we built together last period before they skitter away.
The novel: Flannery O'Connor's Wise Blood. We found out why freaks make such good subject matter, why it make sense for Enoch to become an animal, why Hazel Motes punishes himself so medievally in modern times, and maybe what O'Connor had in mind when she came to write the 14th and final chapter in her first novel. I could try and explicate these discoveries further, but already the sparks have vanished even from the inside of my eyelids.
The wonderful thing about really feeling a text (or a song or a film) severely for a moment is the latent possibility that another conversation can re-illumine everything, can even refine it or alter it altogether.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Words of the Day
1) synectics (n) a group approach to problem-solving involving the free exchange of analogy and metaphor; [perfect name for any creative collaborations in the near future]
2) berm (n) a narrow ledge along the bottom of a slope; a ledge between a moat and the edge of the fortification it protects; a terrace formed by wave action against the shore; ANY LIMINAL TRACK OF LEVEL EARTH SKIRTING A BODY OF WATER
1) synectics (n) a group approach to problem-solving involving the free exchange of analogy and metaphor; [perfect name for any creative collaborations in the near future]
2) berm (n) a narrow ledge along the bottom of a slope; a ledge between a moat and the edge of the fortification it protects; a terrace formed by wave action against the shore; ANY LIMINAL TRACK OF LEVEL EARTH SKIRTING A BODY OF WATER
