One of
the many benefits of conducting one’s education publicly, as we try to do here
at the Jade Sphinx, is that our
broad range of subjects brings us a broad range of letters. (Oh, very well … emails; but it doesn’t sound
quite the same, does it?)
Without further
ado, let’s dip into our mailbag in-box, and see what we have there.
You
write about children’s literature a great deal.
Do you think that’s a fit subject for adult criticism?
Short
answer: yes. In fact, I’m rather
surprised at the question. There are
many children’s books – the works of Andersen,
Grahame, Milne and Barrie come to
mind – that rank among the most important novels in the language. More important – a truly interesting children’s
book can be read on multiple levels. I
believe that children are amused by the animal shenanigans to be found in Wind in the Willows, while adults will
pause at the more subtle philosophical asides and implications. And if my home
were sinking into a concrete quagmire, I would salvage a great many classic children’s
books from my library before I grabbed many contemporary novels.
And
keeping on a contemporary note, some of the most interesting things on
bookshelves today are found in children’s books. Look at the rich imaginative world of William Joyce, for example.
Do
you really hate all rock music, or is that an affectation? And if you do, how do you avoid it?
I am
nothing but a catalog of affectations.
But, seriously, yes, I have hated most all popular music from the rock
era onwards. It’s not simply that all of
it is bad – though it is; or that it is very bad for you – though it is that,
too; rather, it is simply because we have lost so much by embracing so
little. The palette from which rock (and
funk, pop, bubblegum, rap … and all the other playground words we use to
describe it) paints with sound is a very limited one, indeed. We now find ourselves in a musical landscape
which has very little room for romantic love, or simple idealism, or even, it
seems, common decency. It is no surprise
that mores and society have both degraded since the advent of rock. If a personal library is the measure of a
man, then popular music is the measure of a people, and what our music says
about us flatters no one. When contemplating
contemporary music, it is inexplicable to me that we do not all simply retreat
from it in shame.
As for
hiding from it … it is a continual battle.
I
found your lamenting a lack of humor in The Iliad and The Homesman to be more
than a little quirky. Do you really
think that humor can be found in most anything?
This
reminds me of another reader who asked how an aesthete could have a sense of
humor. I think the only possible reply
is that an aesthete must have one.
True
story: my husband and I were leaving Cambodia on our way to Thailand. We were at the airport, going through
customs. The customs agent processing my
husband’s passport looked at him, looked at the document, stamped it, and
nodded him on. My customs agent looked
at me, looked at my passport, looked at me, looked at my passport…. Finally stamping
it and holding it out to me. But –
before I could take it, he snatched it away and held up and tiny, printed sign
that read, TEN DOLLARS COFFEE MONEY. I
cocked an eyebrow at him and countered, “how much do you want for tea?”
What encounter with art changed you
profoundly?
Too many
to list here. Perhaps the most formative
was a one-man show by John Gay about
Oscar Wilde called Diversions and
Delights. It starred Vincent Price and I went multiple times
in my early teenage years. I’ve never
been the same.
When the
Apollo Belvedere came to New York as
part of the touring Vatican show –
again in my teenage years – I stood before it for hours, transfixed. Here, I thought, was something utterly and
completely perfect in every way.
After
reading your piece on the New American Philistine, I suggest you leave your
mother’s basement and walk around the real-world for a bit.
Many
thanks for the breath of fresh air. Or something.
Brickbats
aside, America isn’t the Land of the Philistine, it’s the Promised Land of the Philistine.
We don’t want to hear it, and pretend that all aesthetic opinions are
created equal, and that democratization of taste allows the cream to rise to
the top. But none of that, however, is
quite true. Signs of our cultural decay are
all around us, and plain to see. We are
gorging ourselves on junk, and it is killing us.
Do you have questions? Send them in for a future column!
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