Saturday, August 23, 2008

Borges' Literary Magic





Ross Smith has written an interesting piece comparing Borges' and Tolkien's fictional worlds. Here is an excerpt: 

The famous Argentinian writer José Luis Borges published a short story titled Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius1. In it, Borges describes a planet called Tlön, our knowledge of which, according to the narrator, Borges himself, has been pieced together from various works by anonymous authors, each writing on a specific characteristic of that world. The fictive Borges comes across Tlön for the first time in a mysterious copy of the Encyclopaedia Britannica which contains an entry not to be found in any other copy. Intrigued, he seeks to increase his knowledge elsewhere, but there is nothing to be found in any of the numerous sources he consults. However, the fictitious world resurfaces in a mysterious book addressed to a recently deceased friend of the author, in the form of the eleventh volume of A First Encyclopaedia of Tlön. This encyclopedia, we are told, describes in the finest detail each and every aspect of the history, geography and culture of Tlön. The narrator hypothesizes that this ‘brave new world’ is the work of a ‘secret society of astronomers, biologists, engineers, metaphysicists, poets, chemists, algebraists, moralists, painters, geometricians, all directed by an obscure man of genius’2. Each specialist contributes data on his or her area, which is then woven into the overall plan by the anonymous master. Given the format he has chosen, Borges cannot be too profuse, so he offers brief but brilliant descriptions of the science, philosophy, architecture, language, mathematics, literature, archaeology and history of Tlön, containing references of persuasively profound erudition. On the subject of literature, for instance, we are told that in the world of Tlön ‘[w]orks of fiction address a single argument, with all imaginable permutations. Philosophical works invariably contain a thesis and an antithesis, rigorously for and against a doctrine. A book that does not encompass its counterbook is considered incomplete.’ Concerning the language of Tlön, Borges informs us in gravely academic tones that ‘[t]here are no nouns in the conjectural Ursprache of Tlön, from which the “current” languages and dialects derive: there are impersonal verbs, qualified by monosyllabic suffixes (or prefixes) of an adverbial character’. He then offers us an example of how the sentence ‘The moon rose over the river’ would be rendered – quite beautifully - in the language of Tlön: "Upward, behind the onstreaming it mooned." It should be noted that this sentence was written in English (a language Borges knew well and deeply appreciated), within the original Spanish narrative, since the Encyclopaedia of Tlön, we are told, is in English. There is considerably more on both literature and language, as well as on the other subjects referred to above. Borges then goes on to describe his discovery of the identity of the ‘obscure genius’ behind the creation of Tlön, the formation during the late 19th century of a secret team of 300 specialists who wrote the forty volumes of the First Encyclopaedia of Tlön, the chance finding of this encyclopaedia in a library in Memphis in 1944, its unveiling via the international press, and the ensuing worldwide furor concerning all things to do with Tlön. 

In addition to deploying his extraordinary imagination and narrative skill, in Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius, Borges uses a number of devices to make his tale seem more factual than fictitious. These include references to real people alive at the time (such as fellow writer and Argentinian Bioy Casares, who initiates the search for Tlön in the story), comments and footnotes on the work of historically relevant authors (Berkeley, Hume, Russell), specific place names, dates, and so on. He also takes advantage of his vast erudition in descriptions such as those quoted above on literature and language to strengthen the sense of reality. Nonetheless, readers are evidently aware of Borges’ literary magic and know that this is fiction, however skillfully he has enabled them to suspend reality. The story is provocative and brilliantly told, but the belief persists that no one could ever truly invent an entire world, with the almost infinite strength of imagination, and volume of information, that would require. However, when Borges published his most renowned works of fiction during the 1940s, an English author and academic on the other side of the Atlantic had already for decades been assembling a whole universe, partly from his own imagination and partly from his scholarly knowledge of ancient tales and sagas from north-western Europe. It was a world with its own seas, islands and rivers, mountain ranges, plains and swamps, its own skies and stars, inhabited not only by men but also by other sapient beings, each with a specific language and culture. There were wild beasts, some like those of our world and some not, and abundant plant life. The author had also created a history for this world, which went back not just to primitive times but to the very creation of the world itself, by its particular Gods. The English academic in question was, of course, J.R.R. Tolkien, and to make his world credible he did not need to use any of the literary artifices employed by Borges. In fact, his approach was quite the opposite of Borges’... Borges sought to compress an intellectually stimulating idea into the shortest format possible. 

Read it all here

Of course, Borges had many fictional worlds besides that of Tlön. I think of his story "El Brujo Postergado" and his "Laberinto". These too display economy of language while creating worlds through which the reader's imagination walks as in a dream.



Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Haiku: Images of Home

The following haikus were originally published in the 1996 issue of Selah, an annual publication of the Western Ohio Christian Writers Guild, p. 56.

Be waiting for me
warm kitten and ball of yarn.
Here's room for play.

Alice C. Linsley


Golden candle glow
Hearts at fireside warmed at home.
Serene at last.

Esther McGraw


Towheads play at home
pick raisens from Daddy's toast
plant hotdog trees too.

Hope Rapson

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Another Raymond Foss Poem

Sunday Afternoon
Raymond Foss

Sunday Afternoon
The loon and I
Alone on the lake
Below the threatening sky.
He watches me warily.
His red eye afire.
Am I a predator.
He doesn’t know.
He drops below the waves
Bobbing back up again.
The swallows dart and dive
Skimming on the wind dimpled surface.
Too early for boaters.
Too late for fisherman.
Quiet on the water.


To read another lovely poem by Raymond Foss, go here.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Tolkien's Masterpiece

Tolkien created a universe on a scale which was entirely unique. No one before or since has come close to equalling his achievement, because no one before or since has followed a creative process as singular and unrepeatable as Tolkien’s.

This enormous scope is a significant factor when trying to explain the extraordinary and lasting popularity of Tolkien’s work, and why The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings remain in the best-seller lists several decades after their publication, when most other imaginative fiction writers of Tolkien’s generation are forgotten. Dozens of authors have created cities, continents, planets, galaxies, even parallel universes, but none have succeeded like Tolkien, because his Middle-earth was much more than just a setting for his novels; rather, it was his life’s work, spanning more than half a century, during which time he sought to fill in every detail, to leave no corner of his enormous canvas blank. He was not particularly concerned about being a successful author in critical or commercial terms.

These issues mattered to him as they would to anyone, but they were not central to his work. For one thing, he was in the comfortable position of earning the salary, and enjoying the undemanding timetable, of a professional academic. However, Tolkien was not some Kafkaesque intellectual ascetic, shunning worldly gain in his pursuit of artistic expression. Simply, he wished to create a new mythology for his own satisfaction, and his two main novels are small chapters in this overall design of Middle-earth, from its creation by the supreme God Eru onwards, which absorbed much of his life.

Read it all here.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

The Problem of Suffering

I recently read CS Lewis' The Problem of Pain. It is a well-reasoned and cogent apologetic for the Creator's abiding love. I have some trouble with Lewis' evolutionary view of the human species, but find his conclusion compelling: pain too is in the service of God's love.

This is the conclusion of many great figures of history: Abraham, Joseph, Moses, St. John Chrysostom, St. Augustine, Kierkegaard... and George Herbert. Herbert's poem Affliction continues to be a powerful statement of the endurance of love, not simply in the midst of pain, but by virtue of pain.

How counter-intuitive it is to even speak of the "virtue" of pain! Yet human experience tells us there is value in suffering. The suffering of the olympian preparing for the trials of competition. The pain of the soldier as he pushes the limits of his physical and mental endurance. The grief of parents who have lost a child and who reach out to parents suffering similar loss. And in the face of devastating loss it is only our sorrow that reassures us that we are alive. George Herbert tells no tales.

Use Herbert's Poem in the Classroom

I've used the following poem in both Philosophy class and in Creative Writing class. I tell the students about George Herbert and read his poem to the class. I then ask the students their impressions. Then I request that each think about the most painful experience they have had. Then I assign a stanza to 11 student volunteers and work with them so that they will read their assigned stanza expressively and with understanding. The students read the poem aloud in class, the different voices representing the suffering of all humanity. Finally, those who didn't volunteer are asked to share their impressions.

Affliction
George Herbert

When thou didst entice to thee my heart,
I thought the service brave:
So many joys I writ down for my part,
Besides what I might have
Out of my stock of natural delights,
Augmented with thy gracious benefits.

I looked on thy furniture so fine,
And made it fine to me:
Thy glorious household-stuff did me entwine,
And ‘tice me unto thee.
Such stars I counted mine: both heav’n and earth
Paid me my wages in a world of mirth.

What pleasures could I want, whose King I served?
Where joys my fellows were?
Thus argu’d into hopes, my thought reserved
No place for grief or fear.
Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place,
And made her youth and fierceness seek thy face.

At first thou gav’st me milk and sweetness;
I had my wish and way:
My days were straw’d with flow’rs and happiness;
There was no month but May.
But with my years sorrow did twist and grow,
And made a party unawares for woe.

My flesh began unto my soul in pain,
Sicknesses cleave my bones;
Consuming agues dwell in ev’ry vein,
And tune my breath to groans.
Sorrow was al my soul; I scarce believed,
Till grief did tell me roundly, that I lived.

When I got health, thou took’st away my life,
And more; for my friends die:
My mirth and edge was lost; a blunted knife
Was of more use than I.
Thus thin and lean without a fence or friend, I was blown through with ev’ry storm and wind.

Whereas my birth and spirit rather took
The way that takes the town;
Thou didst betray me to a lingering book,
And wrap me in a gown.
I was entangled in the world of strife,
Before I had the power to change my life.

Yet, for I threatened oft the siege to raise,
Not simpring all mine age,
Thou often didst with Academic praise
Melt and dissolve my rage.
I took thy sweetened pill. Till I came where
I could not go away, nor persevere.

Yet lest perchance I should too happy be
In my happiness,
Turning my purge to food, thou throwest me
Into more sicknesses.
Thou doth thy power cross-bias me; not making
Thine own gift good, yet me from my ways taking.

Now I am here, what thou wilt do with me
None of my books will show:
I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree;
For sure I then should grow
To fruit or shade: at least some bird would trust
Her household to me, and I should be just.

Yet though thou troublest me, I must be meek;
In weakness must be stout.
Well, I will change the service, and go seek
Some other master out.
Ah my dear God! Though I am clean forgot,
Let me not love thee, if I love thee not.



Friday, August 1, 2008

George Herbert's The Pearl

Some readers of Students Publish Here will remember when I shared a dream I had involving a luminous pearl. In my dream, the pearl appeared suspended in air to my right at a distance away that required me to move toward it. This meant that I had to step out of the procession of priests and turn my back on my bishop to take hold of it.

It was a prophetic dream, occurring almost 20 years before I left the priesthood and turned my back of the bishop’s activism for homosexual partnerships and same-sex ceremonies in the Episcopal Church.

New Hampshire poem, Ed Pacht, wrote a poem about my dream which captures the turning point perfectly in these words:

... a precious pearl, a pearl without a price,
a crystal of the loving tears of God,
a jewel with a secret name upon it,
a secret name that named my soul,
and as I sang the words upon that stone,
I bent in awe before it marveling,
thinking not upon the glad procession now behind me,
but upon the prize that I now saw,
and I bent to seize it, rising with my eyes now turning
from the thing that I had thought important,
to the path the precious pearl had shown me,
and I walked the way that I was facing,
toward the distant city gates,
and the lights came on.

You may read Ed's entire poem here.

My dream of the luminous tear drop pearl came back to me with new force as I was reading George Herbert’s poems and came upon one titled The Pearl. The title alludes to Jesus’ parable of the Pearl of Great Price found in Matthew 13:45. I’m reproducing the poem here in a modern English version, although the English in which it was originally written is much more interesting. For the original version, go here.

The Pearl
George Herbert

I know the ways of learning; both the head
And pipes that feed the press, and make it run;
What reason hath from nature borrowed,
Or of itself, like a good housewife, spun
In laws and policy; what the stars conspire,
What willing nature speaks, what forced by fire;
Both th'old discoveries and the new-found seas,
The stock and surplus, cause and history;
All these stand open, or I have the keys:
Yet I love thee.

I know the ways of honour; what maintains
The quick returns of courtesy and wit;
In vies of favours whether party gains
When glory swells the heart and moldeth it
To all expressions both of hand and eye,
Which on the world a true-love-knot may tie,
And bear the bundle wheresoe'er it goes;
How many drams of spirit there must be
To sell my life unto my friends or foes:
Yet I love thee.

I know the ways of pleasure; the sweet strains
The lullings and the relishes of it;
The propositions of hot blood and brains;
What mirth and music mean; what love and wit
Have done these twenty hundred years and more;
I know the projects of unbridled store;
My stuff is flesh, not brass; my senses live,
And grumble oft that they have more in me
Than he that curbs them, being but one to five:
Yet I love thee.

I know all these and have them in my hand;
Therefore not sealed but with open eyes
I fly to thee, and fully understand
Both the main sale and the commodities;
And at what rate and price I have thy love,
With all the circumstances that may move.
Yet through the labyrinths, not my grovelling wit,
But thy silk twist let down from heaven to me
Did both conduct and teach me how by it
To climb to thee.