Daniel Wells arrives in Tonoharu believing that his "legacy was to be monumental. Fluency in Japanese, adoring students and colleagues, [and] a revolutionized curriculum . . . ." Things don't, of course, work out this way.
My review of Lars Martinson's comic book, Tonoharu
—David
(A guest blog by Chas Bamford)
Why does Kabuki remain unloved by my brother Julian who left Britain to live in Japan and enjoy its combination of simplicity and beauty now hard to find elsewhere? In all the years he's been here, it's strange he hasn't added Kabuki to the long list of pleasures to be savoured, alongside the food, temple gardens, mountain scenery, politeness and safety.
Kabuki preserves traditions in a way no Shakespeare play in Britain does. There, the need for freedom and personal creativity, and the drive to explore new interpretations guide each production. Kabuki, on the other hand, maintains gesture, costume, music and dialogue from production to production, with roles and acting styles flowing through the blood line of particular families. Yet Kabuki is intensely alive while retaining its archetypes. Despite dabbling in worldliness alongside the spiritual, it explodes with the inspiring side of Japan otherwise found in quieter media such as prints, fabrics, gardens and architecture.
Kabuki rocks. It moves; it sings; it changes costume; it has heroes and heroines who do amazing things; it has drama and spectacle. You can even hire an earphone if you want to know what’s going on. Go and see what you have been missing!
A great waiter died, and all of the other waiters were saddened. At the restaurant, sadness was expressed. Black napkins were draped over black arms. Black tablecloths were distributed. Several nearby streets were painted black—those leading to establishments in which Guignol had placed his plates with legendary tact. Guignol's medals (for like a great beer he had been decorated many times, at international exhibitions in Paris, Brussels, Rio de Janiero) were turned over to his mistress, La Lupe. The body was poached in white wine, stock, olive oil, vinegar, aromatic vegetables, herbs, garlic, and slices of lemon for twenty-four hours and displayed en Aspic on a bed of lettuce leaves. Hundreds of famous triflers appeared to pay their last respects. Guignol's colleagues recalled with pleasure the master's most notable eccentricity. Having coolly persuaded some innocent to select a thirty-dollar bottle of wine, he never failed to lean forward conspiratorially and whisper in his victim's ear, "Cuts the grease."
—Donald Barthelme, from the story "Brain Damage," collected in City Life
Of course the thirty-dollar bottle of wine dates the piece a bit.
I wrote a little about City Life and another Batheleme collection, Amateurs, here.
—David
The days are warmer. The last of the plum blossom decorates the tips of branches, and the orchard floor is carpeted with purple mustard flowers.
Two days ago, dark clouds loured at sunset and after dark, lightning briefly glowed above their mass. The first fat drops of rain smacked against my coat. Soon lightning was arcing across the sky, followed by the crash of thunder. The soaking downpour sheeted off the parking lots, overwhelming the drains and making lakes in the roads.
The next morning, bright sun again. The cherry blossom is gaining a foothold on the budding branches that are poised to explode into pink clouds.
--Julian
USA Today recently introduced a volume of biographical writing, Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six-Word Memoirs by Writers Famous and Obscure from Smith Magazine, edited by Rachel Fershleiser and Larry Smith. Apart from the splendid one in the title of the book itself, some examples given were
"Secret of life: Marry an Italian." Nora Ephron
and
"Fearlessness is the mother of reinvention." Arianna Huffington
Mine--the title of this post--is supposed to be a chronology, a decade per word; the final verb is a wishful look ahead at the years to come. But as someone pointed out, I might hope to include playing and dreaming at all stages of life, and indeed I do.
What is your life in six words?
--Julian
You can't make this stuff up.
—David
—NC Tate
We don't say of a knowledgeable oenophile that he is well-drunk.
We don't say of a skilled carpenter that she is well-built.
We don't say of an inspired musician that he is well-played.
We don't say of a talented chef that she is well-cooked.
So why do we say of someone who has consumed lots of good books that she is well-read?
That's the kind of thing I wonder about when I should be working.
Maybe Languagehat would know?
—David
One of my favorite parts of this Blockhead blog is hidden away in the column on the right: the Collections. There are three folders at the moment: Books Julian Finished in 2008 (few), Films Julian Watched in 2008 (a few more), and Books David Finished in 2008 (a very large number, with about 5 more added every time you visit the folder). If you click the icons inside the folder, a larger book or DVD cover comes up, at the bottom of which there's Julian or David's thumbnail review of the item in question.
David seems to devour a book a day, while I'm lucky to manage one a month. I added my third book of the year today: a wonderful collection of "How to" humor columns by Guy Browning. I commented that no one is better than Browning at skewering our pretensions and satirizing our foibles. As he has been writing columns for years, there seems to be an endless supply of both. He recently wrote one (not included in the book) on "How to... blog" in which he notes,
"Traditionally, people kept diaries of their innermost thoughts, safe in the knowledge that no one would ever publish them. Nowadays, millions of people publish their innermost thoughts as internet blogs, safe in the knowledge that no one will ever read them."
He also warns that "'I don't know what to write about today,' is not a good way of starting a blog. You'll notice that none of the great works of literature start with that line."
Both points taken. (Sound of air escaping from punctured pretentions)
--Julian
I posted a squib about Angel Wagenstein's Farewell, Shanghai
The adjective "cinematic," when applied to a novel, is usually meant to suggest that the book described bounces from one action-crammed scene to the next in a manner abrupt enough to delight those who find it difficult to concentrate on one thing for longer than 30 seconds.
Read the rest here.
—David
