Radical Transparency

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east of eden

December 02, 2008

Secret Flowers

I just read the first chapter of East of Eden again.  Because I couldn't resist.  Too good not to want back in, even if just for a moment.

And, of course, as not so secretly expected, I found something new.

I remember my childhood names for grasses and secret flowers.

I don't have those kinds of memories.  I have snapshots and impressions and a handful of incomplete, skeletal stories, but I don't remember my imagination.  Not as far back as childhood names for grasses anyway.

I can tap imagination memory a little bit in relation to sports and music.  I remember counting down, commentating, and launching three pointers to take playoff games to OT.  I remember walking out on a spotlit stage, long hair swinging, and hearing the crowd explode as I picked up my guitar.

But I think that's where it stops.  Or that's where my access stops.  At the moment anyway.  I do hear faint echoes of crawling around pretending to be animals.  I know stories of my days dressed up as Robin Hood and carrying a quarterstaff.  I can't imagine my mind wasn't racing all day every day.  And I hope I'll someday dig deeper into those memories.

But not today.  No secret flowers for me.
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November 20, 2008

But Becharmed Anew

Life has been a little tougher without East of Eden these past couple of weeks.  As Tom and I discussed in August (while he was reading East of Eden, incidentally), it's tough to walk away from something that has truly grabbed you.

But read on we must.  And I'm trying.  With Melville.  Benito Cereno.

The beginning was a struggle.  But not so much anymore.  Not for the past 10 or so pages anyway. 

Something happened.  Something clicked.  And I suspect it had to do with one character wondering if another might be "of a piratical character."

Those were the first words I underlined.  I dug them.  Piratical.  A new word for me.  And a damn good one.

And, then, nine pages and much pen scratching later, I hit this:

Trying to break one charm, he was but becharmed anew.

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November 04, 2008

From Barbarism to Decadence

I took a break from the early returns a little while ago and read. 

And I happened to read this:

All colors and all blends of Americans have somewhat the same tendencies.  It's a breed - selected out by accident.  And so we're overbrave and overfearful - we're kind and cruel as children.  We're overfriendly and at the same time frightened of strangers.  We boast and are impressed.  We're oversentimental and realistic.  We're mundane and materialistic - and do you know of any other nation that acts for ideals?  We eat too much.  We have no taste, no sense of proportion.  We throw our energy about like waste.  In the old lands they say of us that we go from barbarism to decadence without an intervening culture.  Can it be that our critics have not the key or the language of our culture?

Fun place, this country.

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