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In a 1996 letter Guy Davenport offered me the following fact, following it with a snippet of on-the-fly fiction:
In my previous post, mentioning Jack Green’s Fire the Bastards!–a screed on the inadequacies of book reviewing brought into being by the publication (and popular critical dismissal) of William Gaddis’s first novel, The Recognitions–I quoted Green’s kiss-off to the glossy magazines that didn’t review the book: “They were busy measuring Henry James’s fingernails.”
It’s a nice image, one that shorthands the kind of dilettantism that would value the least dead trace of a canonical writer over the most lively evidence of a new genius. “Fingernails” is also a nice allusive choice–itself shorthand for Green’s knowledge of literary modernism, recalling as it does Joyce’s lines for Stephen Dedalus, which rework Flaubert, on the nature of the literary artist. Stephen says an artist is “like the God of the creation,” remaining “within or behind of beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, paring his fingernails.”
James, of course, is an easy target for such comma-clausal-comedy. Consider the following from his preface–one of eighteen written for “The New York Edition” of his works–to The Portrait of a Lady:
Trying to recover here, for recognition, the germ of my idea, I see that it must have consisted not at all in any conceit of a “plot,” nefarious name, in any flash, upon the fancy, of a set of relations, or in any one of those situations that, by a logic of their own, immediately fall, for the fabulist, into movement, into a march or a rush, a patter of quick steps but altogether in the sense of a single character, the character and aspect of a particular engaging young woman, to which all the usual elements of a “subject,” certainly of a setting, were to need to be superadded.
How funny, one might think to think, such syntax. We laugh, though, Nietzsche writes somewhere, at those things that, being true, would otherwise kill us. The laughably (by our diminished standards of acceptable vocabulary and syntax) baroque teasing out of thought, above, could well be funny to a contemporary sensibility, one that couldn’t abide the idea that there’s any difference between “added” and “superadded.” Such a reader would, to use a technical term, have seen his sensibilities, ah, in the American demotic, superbadded.
More from Wyatt Mason:
Conversation — October 2, 2015, 8:26 am
“By committing to the great emotional extremes demanded by Greek tragedy,” says Bryan Doerries, author of The Theater of War, “the actors are in effect saying to the audience: ‘If you want to match our emotional intensity, that would be fine.’”
Freddie Gray’s relatives arrived for the trial in the afternoon, after the prep-school kids had left. By their dress, they seemed to have just gotten off work in the medical and clerical fields. The family did not appear at ease in the courtroom. They winced and dropped their heads as William Porter and his fellow officer Zachary Novak testified to opening the doors of their police van last April and finding Freddie paralyzed, unresponsive, with mucus pooling at his mouth and nose. Four women and one man mournfully listened as the officers described needing to get gloves before they could touch him.
The first of six Baltimore police officers to be brought before the court for their treatment of Freddie Gray, a black twenty-five-year-old whose death in their custody was the immediate cause of the city’s uprising last spring, William Porter is young, black, and on trial. Here in this courtroom, in this city, in this nation, race and the future seem so intertwined as to be the same thing.
Number of Turkish college students detained in the last year for requesting Kurdish-language classes:
Turkey was funding a search for Suleiman the Magnificent’s heart.
A former prison in Philadelphia that has served as a horror-movie set was being prepared as a detention center for protesters arrested at the upcoming Democratic National Convention, and presumptive Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump fired his campaign manager.
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“Matt was happy enough to sustain himself on the detritus of a world he saw as careening toward self-destruction, and equally happy to scam a government he despised. 'I’m glad everyone’s so wasteful,' he told me. 'It supports my lifestyle.'”