itchiest love story ever

this is a cop out post because i don't have the energy for the post that's percolating in my mind grapes. 


the following is an excerpt from The Enchantress of Florence, which yes, I'm still reading. i'm telling you about it because it's the perfect love story/metaphor, and it made me giggle. wanna hear it? here it goes:

That night the emperor dreamed of love. In his dream he was once again the caliph of Baghdad, Harun al-Rashid, wandering incognito, this time, through the streets of the city of Isbanir. All of a sudden he, the caliph, developed an itch that no man could cure. He returned swiftly to his palace in Baghdad, scratching himself all over throughout the twenty-mile journey, and when he got home he bathed in asses' milk and asked his favorite concubines to massage his whole body with honey. Still the itch drove him mad an no doctor could find the cure, though they cupped him and leeched him until he was at the very gates of death. He dismissed those quacks and when he regained his strength decided that if the itch was incurable the only thing to do was to distract himself so thoroughly that he stopped noticing it.

He summoned the most famous comedians n his realm to make him laugh, and the most knowledgeable philosophers to stretch his brain to the limit. Erotic dancers aroused his desires and the most skillful courtesans satisfied them. He built palaces and roads and schools and race tracks and all of these things served well enough but the itching continued without the slightest sign of improvement. He has the whole city of Isbanir placed in quarantine and fumigated its gutters to try to attack the itching plague at its source but the truth was that very few people seemed to be itching as badly as he was. Then on another night when he went cloaked and secret through the streets of Baghdad he saw a lamp at a high window and when he looked up he glimpsed a woman's face illuminated by the candle so that she seemed to be made of gold. For that single instant the itching stopped completely but the moment she closed her shutters and blew out th candle it returned with redoubled force. It was then that the caliph understood the nature of his itch. In Isbanir he had seen that same face for a similar instant looking down from another window and the itching had begun after that. 'Find her,' he told the vizier, 'for that is the witch who has hexed me.'

Easier said than done. The caliph's men brought seven women a day before him on each of the next seven days, but when he obliged them to bare their faces he saw at once that none of them was the one he sought. On the eighth day, however, a veiled woman came to the court unbidden and asked for an audience, saying she was the one who could ease the caliph's pain. Harun al-Rashid had her admitted right away. 'So you are the sorceress,' he cried. 'I am nothing of the sort,' she answered him. 'But ever since I caught a glimpse of a man's hooded face in the streets of Isbanir I have been itching uncontrollably. I even left my hometown and moved here to Baghdad hoping the move would ease my affliction, but it was no use. I have tried to occupy myself, to distract myself, and have woven great tapestries and written volumes of poetry, all to no avail. Then I heard that the caliph of Baghdad was looking for a woman who made him itch and I knew the answer to the riddle.'

With that she boldly cast off her veiling garment and at once the caliph's itches disappeared completely and were replaced by an entirely different sentiment. 'You too?' he asked her and she nodded. 'No more itching. Something else instead.' 'And that, too, is an affliction no man can heal,' said Harun al-Rashid. 'Or, in my case, no woman,' the lady replied. The caliph clapped his hands and announced his forthcoming marriage; and he and his Begum lived happily ever after, until the coming of Death, the Destroyer of Days.

Such was the emperor's dream. 

 

 

i made you a mix tape

a mix tape (debatable, possibly 'mixtape,' but i'm sticking with two words because it makes more sense to me that way so shoosh) is a story. even if you don't mean it that way. even if the songs don't tell a story. making someone a mix tape used to be not-so-subtle-but-you-thought-it-was-subtle way to say

i have a ginormous crush on you and if you like this music then we're getting married and having a billion babies but if you dont like it then i dont like you at all anymore.

well, i suppose it still means that sometimes. but it's also not a tape anymore; it's a cd or a playlist handed to you via thumb drive or wiki or itunes magic, taking just a bit of the labor out of the labor of love that used to involve sitting in front of your boombox, listening to the radio with your finger hovering above the 'record' button on the tape deck. but i have my bloggin socks on so get ready for some way more interesting, deep perspectives on the art of the "mix," not having to do with technology or kids these days *shakes fist.*

take heed early on, i will be referencing and quoting high fidelity, because it's an easy source and you all know it and it is awesome and makes some great points about the art and purpose of mixes, and also makes me look slightly less elitist in the music realm, but this scene in particular has lots of naughty words in it so here's a link instead to watch on your own time. oh, and it's based on a book, but i'm quoting the movie. yay!

now i shall preach about a number of things. today's number is the number THREE (3) !!

1. music and mood

did i listen to pop music because i was miserable, or was i miserable because i listened to pop music?

2. circumstances and situations

it's a delicate thing; you're using someone else's poetry to express how you feel.

3. mix as narrative

how did i manage to edit all this out? 

i must also point out that two of my favorite mixes were shared with me by the great laceface [(mix: spring hooray) - it must also be noted that lacey is a mix master - she has even made epic mixes of her favorite artists; my favorite of which was her ani difranco mix, in three volumes.] and the great kyle "creatureparade" [mix: sad bastard music (yes, named after the scene i linked to previously, AND it was an actual cassette tape)]. on to your musical education!

1. music and mood

it's not new information that music affects your mood and that your mood affects the music you listen to. this can be a dangerous game. for instance, kyle once pointed out that the worst thing you can do when you are sad (particularly the broken heart type of sad) is listen to the cure. which seems counterintuitive, doesn't it. but seriously, don't do it, you'll kill yourself.

when it comes to creating a work-of-art mix tape, a lot of the story you're telling belongs to the mood invoked by each song and the songs surrounding it - the track flow must NOT be ignored. and jeez oh man can you have a ball with that. with great power comes great responsibility and all that. to wit: i created a mix a few years ago called medicine head, and while it starts funny and upbeat, it doesn't take long to gently swing you down into a comfortable lull where you can space out and feel just a little sad-numb.. a sample from that point in the mix:

but then it brings you back up again, but not too much, because it can't be jarring, you see. 

compare that with 'fast food' and 'survival guide,' my two ultimate masterpieces. both are pretty much sunny day driving music. but they still play with your mood. it's a freakin blast, i tell you! take this sample from survival guide, balkan beat box's digital monkey:

basically, i spend hours making awesome mixes of stuff i like in a way that tells a story and plays with your mind to make you think and listen and leaves you happy at the end. i do not make mix tapes of things i think a particular other person will like, generally speaking. but i do love to share the mixes i create with people i know will enjoy them. which brings me to point numero dos.

2. circumstances and situations

i did mention the classic move of "making someone a mix," so i can start there. the moment someone says to you

i made you a mix tape

is a moment where you will inevitably feel one of two ways that can be expressed by the term "omg": either you'll be squealy n giggly n flattered n excited n trying to hold yourself back from looking too eager by asking them to listen to it WITH you, or you'll be in stunned shock because you have no interest in this person or their freaky interpretation of what 'good' music is, plus you know they'll be bugging you for days asking if you liked it and what your favorite song was and asking you to shows n things. (img from explodingdog.com)


which is why i'm so happy to say that i grew out of that at some point. there are other, more comfortable times that call for mix tapes. what kind of music a person likes says a lot about them. can you say something to talk about?! to quote a song on 'medicine head,'

it's not interesting to have false conversations.

i hate having nothing to say and having to say stuff that doesn't matter. isn't it more fun to talk about something interesting to talk about, that makes both/all parties think about their taste in music and their interpretation of lyrics or whatever, who cares. even if it's just a matter of 'holy crap, i hate this song, i cant believe you're making me listen to it' - now you get to figure out why! and pick on them! yay for learning new things about friends! this is my favorite circumstance - especially if i know the person i'm forcing my mix on has the same taste in music as i do, or at least close enough that i don't feel like i'm being really mean.


then of course there are the theme mixes, perfect for things like weddings, parties, working out, etc. my point with these situations is they're still opportunities for epic mixes, not just a playlist of songs that all fit in a particular category. it's about telling that story. 


3. mix as narrative
i've touched on this. i think you're getting the idea. this is basically 1+2 above. it's not just start with a bang and then take it up a notch but then take it down a notch. a really awesome mix tells a story. don't get me wrong; i don't mean all the lyrics = a novel. that's dumb. but would be awesome. but no. 


what i mean is, you can create art by arranging the pieces in a way that evokes the mood you want (at each point, and overall), and that is appropriate to the situation in which the mix is meant to be played. look, you don't listen to kiss at 5am and you don't listen to sublime when it's raining, right? that starts to touch on the depth i'm driving at. 


music is so powerful, and it can be very painful to encounter a song you loathe, a song that's just inappropriate to the situation, or just a song that doesn't play on the emotions you were feeling during the last song you heard. conversely, it can be so blissful if all those things are just right: taste, mood, circumstance, and flow.


in fact, that goes for people too. teeheeheeeeee.

boox vs moofees

i try pretty hard to make it a point to read the book before seeing the movie that kills it. people who "aren't readers" have to listen to us rant about this every time a new "based on" movie comes out. and i'm sorry for that. i'm also sorry that you're missing out on so much because you're too lazy to spend more than 2 hours taking in a story, punk. but perhaps you just dont care and get everything you need from a movie that might be ok in its own right. and perhaps now that you've seen the movie, you feel the book would be a bust because you already know the story and you know what happens next and that ruins it for you or something. i dont know, we've all done it.

sometimes, every once in a while, a movie based on a book does a pretty honest job. interview with a vampire, for example, kicked butt at this. granted, anne rice was intimately involved in the screenplay process, but no matter the reason, this was a rare win. the movie was not only AWESOME, but it was nearly identical to the book - in terms of character development, plot, even dialogue. then queen of the damned totally failed. awesome movie, but made no sense, and the book was a jillion times different. i suppose the question is, does it matter if the movie "isn't as good as the book?"




the immediate example that comes to mind is Sophie's Choice, by William Styron. (what?! i thought for sure she'd complain about lord of the rings! nope, it's been done to death.) i knew it would make me cry and i knew what the choice was, but that's pretty much all i knew when i read it. i also knew there was a movie that "people" were generally pretty stoked about, overall. so i flew through the book knowing the whole time that i would later be pointing out every variation in the movie, like in one of those games in Highlights magazine where you have to circle all the things that are different in the two pictures of the same scene. 

little did i know that the book and the movie were two COMPLETELY different creatures. the way i've explained it before is that the book is over 500 pages long, and the movie covers about 100 pages, and does so quite selectively. it would be easier to try to figure out what's the same.


basically, this made me very angry. here's a book with sensitive subject matter, and tons of complexity and depth, and honestly, it's more about the narrator than stupid sophie, and i was so excited to see how a lot of it would translate, and the whole time i'm thinking 'this would be a really long movie,' and then BAM, it's a movie about the holocaust that doesnt make any sense. like we needed another one of those.


another example is everything is illuminated. that book was AWESOME. and nothing like i expected. and super fun to read. and the movie made absolutely NO sense. i dont know how these things happen. i guess that's why they make a point to say things like "based on the novel" or "based on a true story." then the creative license exists to do whatever you feel like to it!


ok, enough whining. i'm not even going to get into the books based on movies, fan fiction, and all that jazz (*cough* star wars books *cough*).


media is so much fun because of stuff like this. different media reach different audiences, and with each translation, a new version is created, and exists independently from the "original." i love reading a book and then watching the movie based on it, because it's a whole new experience (plus i like to make those comparisons and try to figure out if the screenplay writer, director, producer, etc. had a different interpretation of what was important to the story as a whole, blah blah blah).

and new things are happening with this. ok, not super new, but pretty cool nonetheless. we've had batman movies and superman movies for quite some time, but since warner brothers bought the rights to certain dc comics, we've been inundated with some pretty badass-hollywood-movie versions of comic books. movies meant for adults, with depth and sex and yes, violence, at a level that was only alluded to in the comics meant for kids. 


AND THEN! introduce video games into the mix. Prince of Persia: a brand spakin new movie that looks like it will be pretty sweet, based on a video game that's been around for quite some time. in a video game, you certainly have plot and character development, but a movie is pretty much just one story. so it's almost more of a spinoff... kind of like comics.. SAFE GROUND! lemme 'splain.

with a novel, you have a solid story with a clear beginning and end, specific characters, meanings, points, nuances, and so forth. you can't really mess with much without being a ruiner. with comics, you have your main character(s) and some recurring villains, and a bunch of episodic plots where all that has to happen is the hero defeats a bad guy. video games are similar - you keep the back story, the hero, and within those parameters you could insert almost any plot you'd like. which makes movies based on comics and games "safe" from jerks like me.

hey. avatar is fern gully. and hook.

lacey just saw avatar and was text-complaining at me the whole time about how every inch of it is ripped off. doi. but haha, fooled you, i'm not going to talk about something that obvious except for right now when imma go 

RU-FI-OOOOO!!

ok, but i love lacey and she's right. and that's it. it's just that she reminded me of (anyone starting to think my blog should be called 'that reminded me of'? im so predictable. hey, that's perfect for this post!) not only one of the books i'm currently reading, The Enchantress of Florence, but upon further reflection, a book i read in college (surprise!) called The Manuscript Found in Saragossa. 


now don't get me wrong. i do not recommend reading 'Saragossa,' for it is a pernicious beast and will slay you in 100 pages or less, have no DOUBT. plus, if you make it 100 pages, you won't even feel very accomplished because it's about a bajillion pages long. i mean it's good, just takes a looong time to get through. crazy old timey polish guy. i'll expound, don't worry.


i do, however, so far, recommend the 'Enchantress.' now i bet you're thinking 

what the bleep are you talking about, lady; how are avatar, fern gully, rufio, a polish tome, and a super pomo rushdie novel AT ALL similar?

well i'm glad you (i) asked! 'member carl jung? (noooo, she introduced another character! shut up.) WELL, he blathered (like so many of us do, but he was way smarter n cooler) about how there are no actually new stories. in fact, vonnegut brought up the same point in A Man without a Country, in his pretty little graph proving that hamlet and cinderella were the same story (man, i love that guy. and hamlet). ok, here comes the quintessence. 


though i'm only halfway through Rushdie's Enchantress (that's what he said?), i've begun to notice a golden thread. would it be contradictory to call it blatant nuance? anywho. the narrative lazes back n forth in time/history and here n there across continents, catching you up on all the "pertinent" information to current circumstances. a dangerous little game, i might add. but here's where the anvil hit me (i know it's long, but this book is so beautifully choreographed that i hafta give you this much):

'The question of kingship,' the emperor said after a time, 'concerns us less and less. Our kingdom has laws in place to guide it, and officials worthy of trust, and a system of taxation that raises enough money without making people unhappier than is prudent. When there are enemies to defeat we will defeat them. In short, in that field we have the answers we require. The question of Man, however, continues to vex us, and the problem of Woman, almost as much.'

'It is in my city, sire, that the question of Man has been answered for all time,' Mogor said. 'And as to Woman, well, that is the very sum and matter of my story. For, many years after the death of Simonette the first enchantress of Florence, the foretold second enchantress did indeed arrive.'

 some things i noticed in that excerpt (end of chapter, btw, so i could do this) that gave me pause:

1. not particularly relevant to my point today but... Man is a question, Woman is a problem (can't say i disagree, but still, HEEEEY!!)
2. this bit is already within a story being told in the novel - summing up a previously told story but preparing the listener/character/reader for the new story.
3. aside from the biblical undertones of resurrection (one of these things is not like the other), it's clearly pointed out in this cliffhanger that something important that happened before is happening/happened/will happen again. not like a week ago, a year ago, or a decade ago, but within history (hey, not fair, define history! no.). 

don't worry, i wont address all of those individually. just wanted to throw those thoughts at you right after you'd read the bit. #s 2 and 3 basically pummel you with my point. ready for further punches? no one cares, here they come.


Saragossa would break your foot if you dropped it. Jan Potocki (po-tot-skee. that's right.) wasn't sure his reader would get it within the first 15 iterations or so, so he just RAN WITH IT. apparently people were pretty bored in the 18th century. naw, i'm bein mean, there is a reason he has so many stories, but man, it's like when i read catcher in the rye and i was yelling at the book in my lap,

It's not symbolism if you saturate me with it and then explain it!

dont get me started on that book. anywho. the reason i've thrown this book at you is because its point is the reiteration of the tale in a new way/the lack of any new story, and the method is the whole story within a story action. it's really pretty cool. main character is on a journey, meets some dude, dude tells him a story - within dude's story is another dude who tells a story, and so on. at one point it gets something like 18 levels "deep." i kept notes to keep track at one point and then just gave up n said 'I GET IT.' 

kicker: all of the stories and substories ended with the same scene (a troubling one). this spiraling labyrinth of storytelling begins to make the reader feel a bit insignificant in the grand scheme of things. like everything has happened before and history teaches us nothing and you are not a beautiful unique snowflake. 


same point i'm beginning to get from Enchantress. though certainly not the only one. and, granted, it's possible that i read existentialism into urrrvrything. but hear me out. in Enchantress we have the setting of mid-1500s Florence and Persia, but we also have characters recanting their histories (because decent was a pretty big deal), along with branching plot lines (i go here, you go there, ready, GO!), AND historical figures (*cough* Machiavelli *cough*). 


this is not a historical fiction novel, though - unless you'd call Kill Bill historical fiction because you learned something about Hattori Hanzo. the point is the repetition, the existence of archetypes, and the unfortunate fact that, no, there is nothing new in stories. it's also important to note that i use the term stories to refer to everything that happens. your life is a story. we add plot to everything. 'guy walks into a bar.' get it?

also, more important to note, there are infinite ways to tell a story. just because there will inevitably be a hero doesn't mean your story has been done before. in Enchantress, it's sometimes hard to tell who is even narrating at any given point: it could be a character in the 'present' of the novel, or maybe is a character within his story, or he's retelling a story someone told him so the lines are blurred, or maybe its just your good old omniscient narrator who's benevolent enough to give you everyone's perspective in the scene (a little jarring, but awesome).


it doesn't have to be alienating, distancing, and minuscule-feeling-making (i'll hyphenate what i please to make a point). this existence of the same plot, characters, and outcomes in so many stories from so many time periods across so many continents can be exhilaratingly unifying. alas, my point. humanity. narrative is human nature. it is universal. history, fiction, even nonfiction, follows a curve the reader can follow - aka, relate to. without verging on the collective unconscious, let me just say...


there are no universal truths. except stories.

if everything is ruined then nothing is ruined!

the discovery channel just told me that dark matter is the master of the universe. i always used to wonder what all the space between stuff was. because it's really hard to conceive of 'nothingness.' in fact, that's why i dig leibniz even though he's super hard to get and difficult enough to read (translation probably has something to do with that, but i dont speak german, and even if i did, my brain doesnt work/understand concepts like a german brain anyway so it wouldn't be much easier - but now i'm tangent-ing about the sapir-whorf hypothesis which is SO COOL but not what i'm trying to blather about this time so shut your mouth when you're talkin to me).


anywho. leibniz postulated that in the infinity of possibility, the world that exists must be the best of all possible worlds, and that's why it exists (basically because things that are possible are just competing to become actual - actual = existing), and for something to exist, it must be something and not nothing. has your brain 'sploded yet? 


so when the discovery channel was tellin me how the universe works n started talking about dark matter and explaining it a way i understood (for once), i was just grinning. i finally had an answer to what's all that space between the STUFF. it's not AIR. there's no AIR in space. plus i can name "air" - it's made of molecules just like i am. you know, oxygen and pollution and.. some gases.

that's the beginning of the movie Contact (great movie), the end of which (the clip, not the movie. ..well actually kind of the movie too, now that i think about it) reminds me of 2001: A Space Odyssey - but alas, i digress again.


what i love is that, as nebulous as it is (oh snap, unintentional science pun!), i GET dark matter now because it's the stuff between the stuff! everything isn't floating about all disconnected with not enough gravity to hold it together but it stays together anyway cuz i said so. it's thick out there. and here. now, i'm not a sciencey, mathy, physicsy person. so all the dark matter in my brain started making a whole galaxy of totally not-scientific connections. 

it's not magic, it's just the way things are, tommy, you and me and the air are actually tiny particles that're swirling around together. look right here, you 

k, but lookit the cracks between these particles, and the cracks we fall through, the holes of nothingness!

but look closer - there are tiny particles connecting the larger cubes

yeah, and then tinier cracks between the connections

and even tinier connections

and even tinier cracks

yeah but if ya look close enough, you cant tell where my nose ends and space begins because they're unified. see?

don't fall through the holes of nothingness - the space between the particles - because there's just more STUFF ! thanks, i <3 huckabees. 


as if quantum physics could get any nerdier. because dark matter is the stuff between the stuff, holding the stuff together, but it's made of we don't have a clue what, it is flirting with (dun dun dun) METAPHYSICS!! which is what i've been blathering about. oh man, it's so much fun. 


ok, one more thing, and it's really pretty. synchronicity. i'm sure i've mentioned Jung before (because he's made so many points that make me go DUDE TOTALLY) about archetypes and how no story is new, or about language (that whole sapir-whorf thing creeping back, oh how my brain works) or .. well he was a smart crazy dude. ever had to take a personality test thinger in a job interview or for a career counselor? he started it. anyway, he had a lil theory about synchronicity. this is just that one can experience events that offer meaning, even if there's no causal relation. coincidences with meaning. not everything has a cause and effect. starting to sound like chaos theory? weeeee so many connections.


i give you FRACTALS. i give you the mandelbrot set!

SO COOL. here's a video that will make it make more sense in the scheme of my ramblings if you dont know what it is. that right there is infinity, patterns, meaning in chaos, and stuff in the spaces between stuff. 

some awesome

Christie is super and she sent me this poem that rocked my socks off, so now i shall share the wealth. i really like the imagery (among other things). and that made me remindery of Billy's art! Billy is also super and an amazing artist and one of my favoritest pieces of his is also displayed proudly below. (tell him how awesome he is.)

this poem also kind of reminded me of another book by richard brautigan - you may enjoy An Unfortunate Woman. that's a book, i'm not saying you like sad ladies. that's all for now. enjoy :)

Elizabeth Bishop - Questions of Travel

There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams

hurry too rapidly down to the sea,

and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops

makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion,

turning to waterfalls under our very eyes.

--For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains,

aren't waterfalls yet,

in a quick age or so, as ages go here,

they probably will be.

But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling,

the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships,

slime-hung and barnacled.

Think of the long trip home.

Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?

Where should we be today?

Is it right to be watching strangers in a play

in this strangest of theatres?

What childishness is it that while there's a breath of life

in our bodies, we are determined to rush

to see the sun the other way around?

The tiniest green hummingbird in the world?

To stare at some inexplicable old stonework,

inexplicable and impenetrable,

at any view,

instantly seen and always, always delightful?

Oh, must we dream our dreams

and have them, too?

And have we room

for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?

But surely it would have been a pity

not to have seen the trees along this road,

really exaggerated in their beauty,

not to have seen them gesturing

like noble pantomimists, robed in pink.

--Not to have had to stop for gas and heard

the sad, two-noted, wooden tune

of disparate wooden clogs

carelessly clacking over

a grease-stained filling-station floor.

(In another country the clogs would all be tested.

Each pair there would have identical pitch.)

--A pity not to have heard

the other, less primitive music of the fat brown bird

who sings above the broken gasoline pump

in a bamboo church of Jesuit baroque:

three towers, five silver crosses.

--Yes, a pity not to have pondered,

blurr'dly and inconclusively,

on what connection can exist for centuries

between the crudest wooden footwear

and, careful and finicky,

the whittled fantasies of wooden footwear

and, careful and finicky,

the whittled fantasies of wooden cages.

--Never to have studied history in

the weak calligraphy of songbirds' cages.

--And never to have had to listen to rain

so much like politicians' speeches:

two hours of unrelenting oratory

and then a sudden golden silence

in which the traveller takes a notebook, writes:

"Is it lack of imagination that makes us come

to imagined places, not just stay at home?

Or could Pascal have been not entirely right

about just sitting quietly in one's room?

Continent, city, country, society:

the choice is never wide and never free.

And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home,

wherever that may be?"

doppleganger is a fun word

usually when i rave about Simone de Beauvoir, it's regarding all men are mortal, one of my favoritest books of all time. sometimes it's after pedantically quoting the second sex. but this time 'round, it's about she came to stay. i had no clue what i was getting myself into with this book - i had only read the previously mentioned works by this crazy awesome lady (pictured left) and just wanted MORE. suffice to say this was just over a year ago, and i bought the mandarins at the same time, and was so devastated by she came to stay that i this is how far i got before needing something lighter.


this book is nothing like all men are mortal, style-wise. it is, however, about existential crises (oh how i love those). you know that the time. what you don't know is where the hell it's going. i must say, beautifully written, entertaining, but for piles of pages you just plain can't figure out what the overarching plot is. that's ok though. upon completion, all is revealed. our main character, francoise, is a rather narcissistic, artsy, intellectual snob. i absolutely loved her.


the story takes place in paris, right at the beginning of WWII - but that's all in the background. it's really about figuring out who you are, what you like, what you want, and just plain old what it all means and who &#*@ing cares. our main character finds herself a project in a young friend (xaviere) who's rather mopey and apathetic about everything. in every way, she is the opposite of francoise, who often butts heads to get xaviere to do something francoise thinks would be good for her - like leave her room, see a play, or have a conversation. starting to sound a little like bartleby? she's not so much an 'i'd prefer not to'-type as an petulant child. she feels greatly entitled to any and every concession, but hasnt the slightest idea what she actually wants.

No one could care less about her future than Xaviere.

now you know that francoise implored xaviere to come to paris and partake of life as francoise lives it (shamelessly, full force, giving and taking everything). but it doesnt take long for francoise to feel more than a little uncomfortable with this new creature in her life:

Francoise tried with all her strength to thrust into the background this precious and encumbering Xaviere who was gradually taking shape; she felt something close to hostility. But there was nothing to be done, no way of going back. Xaviere was a reality.

up until this admission, xaviere had been francoise's toy, a project - not a real person. now she becomes a threat. as the novel progresses, all the characters (this tight-knit quirky group of artsy smartsy friends) have character- (but not plot) building moments. but what creeps out, ooooozing it's way through the quotidian features of day after day in paris, is that xaviere's existence threatens francoise's existence. francoise is altered by xaviere's existence. she constantly questions everything, has internal struggles over everything because of this fluffity, needy, child. here's some more francoise-thoughts:

If only it were possible to prefer oneself to all others.

She did know with reasonable certainty what she was not; it was agonizing to know herself only in a series of negatives.

constant comparison to others is how francoise defined herself. and now she can't figure someone out. she has to examine herself and determine who she is first in order to understand this other. i don't want to give anything (further) away about the book, but the ending will make you sit still and stare for about an hour while your brain and soul go "       ."