Reading year 2014: The World As I Found It, Born Under Saturn
The World As I Found It by Bruce Duffy does the very thing Laurent Binet said he would not do in HHhH: turn historical figures into characters, presume to know what’s going through their minds, and put words in their mouths. But Duffy does it so well, we completely buy the idea that these characters are Ludwig Wittgenstein, Bertrand Russell, and G.E. Moore. It’s a brilliant performance: a history of the early 20th century, a group biography, and an “autobiographical” novel that investigates its own language in relation to the world.
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First paragraphs:
Duck-Wabbit
The philosopher loved the flicks, periodically needing to empty himself in that laving river of light in which he could openly gape and forget.
Following one of his three-hour lectures, exhausted by his own ceaseless inquiries, he would hook one of his young men by the arm and ask with a faintly pleading look:
Care to see a flick?
The Tivoli was just down the street from Trinity College, Cambridge, rarely crowded. Wanting to avoid chance meetings in the queue, the philosopher would let the film start before he went stalking down the darkened aisle, audibly saying in British English with a German accent:
For this you must get up close—fourth aisle at least.
They were watching Top Hat. Craning back, spellbound as Fred twirled Ginger “Cheek to Cheek” under a temple of sound stage moonlight, the philosopher turned to his companion and said delightedly: Wonderful, how the light empties over you. Like a shower bath.
The young Englishman, precise in inflection, his top button buttoned, carefully smiled in the affirmative as his mentor continued:
Now, no one can dance like this Astaire fellow. Only Americans can do this sort of thing—the English are entirely too stiff and self-conscious. Astaire always gets the girl and of course it’s utterly without pretense. Oh, it makes no sense whatsoever. Like the antics of that American mouse and his animal acquaintances—
The young man perked up. Mickey Mouse, you mean?
Yes, that one. Entirely creditable and charming. Also the duck. I very much like the duck. A wise guy, as the Americans would say.
Donald Duck, you say?
No, no—A quick up-down look, amazed that a young man could be so removed as not to know this. Not Donald—Daffy.
In Greek mythology Cronos (Saturn) was the father of the gods who, fearing that one of his children would dethrone him, took to swallowing them all. In astrology, Saturn is the brooding taskmaster who puts you through tests to toughen you up. To be born under Saturn is to be melancholic, and Aristotle—who had something to say about everything, including stuff of which he knew nothing—maintained that “All extraordinary men distinguished in philosophy, politics, poetry, and the arts are evidently melancholic”, thus creating the melancholy artist stereotype a.k.a. The Tortured Artist Effect.
This 1963 book by the esteemed art scholars the Wittkowers traces the evolution of the idea that artists are mad, or at least eccentric. (It’s certainly very useful for one’s image.) In the process they’ve written a fascinating history of the development of Art as a career—from the wandering artisans, to the guilds, to the proteges of kings, to celebrity artists. Born Under Saturn is crammed with wonderful stories about the private lives of the artists—it’s like a very tasteful tabloid. We haven’t finished it yet, but we can tell you: Pay Michelangelo in full in advance or you’ll never hear the end of it, and never go to a tennis match with Caravaggio.
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First paragraphs:
Twice in the history of the western world can we observe the phenomenon that practitioners of the visual arts were elevated from the rank of mere craftsmen to the level of inspired artists: first in fourth century Greece and again in fifteenth century Italy.
There is no connection between the two events, although writers and artists of the Renaissance recalled the glorious days of antiquity when, in their view, artists were the favourites of kings and enjoyed the veneration of the people. The archetypal case stimulated imitation. Not a few artists of the Renaissance saw themselves in the role of Apelles, while their patrons wanted to rival Alexander the Great. Imitation, however, resulted from the change; it was not its cause.
Answers to questions you might be asking, unless you wandered onto this site purely by accident >>>
January 11th, 2014 at 10:20
“But don’t you think it curious, he probed, pressing the obscure young man to make his point. I mean that neither of these ducks can speak without spitting. Assuming we could even understand a duck who could speak. But spitting –”
Haha, winner! Downloaded the sample on my kindle.