“Well, here we are, at the lighthouse.” It had been a wonderful day, walking to the lighthouse.
– “To The Lighthouse,” Virginia Woolf
“Don’t feel bad,” his father said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Things fall apart sometimes. We’ll just buy a new one.” They did, and then everything was fine.
– “Things Fall Apart,” Chinua Achebe
“Oh, let’s go back to Brideshead,” Sebastian said.
“All right,” replied Charles. “It will be nice to visit Brideshead again.”
– “Brideshead Revisited,” Evelyn Waugh
“You don’t talk much, do you?” the captain asked.
“Mmf,” the American said without looking up.
“Sort of a quiet American type,” the captain said.
“Mmf,” the American said.
“Well, I think we’re going to be good friends, just the same, despite our differences,” the captain said. And they were.
– “The Quiet American,” Graham Greene
“Oh, I didn’t think trees grew here,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, “quite a lot of them actually. Look, there’s several just down the street.” And so there were.
“Huh,” he said, “I guess trees really do grow in Brooklyn.”
“It would be odd if they didn’t,” she said.
– “A Tree Grows In Brooklyn,” Betty Smith
“What a lovely house this is,” Lady Kate said. “And what a pleasant atmosphere.”
“Yes, we always have a lovely time in this house,” the hostess agreed. “That’s why we call it the House of Mirth.”
Everyone laughed, because they were having such a very good time.
– “The House of Mirth,” Edith Wharton
“And the rocking horse goes to the little boy sitting determinedly in the corner,” cried the auctioneer.
At last, it was his. He was the Rocking Horse Winner. Also, he had a problem with masturbating.
– “The Rocking Horse Winner,” D.H. Lawrence
“This is your room, here,” Mother said, “and Jacob, this is your room. Do you like it?”
“Oh, very much,” he said, and it was true. A room all for Jacob! He could scarcely believe it.
“You can visit my room anytime you like,” he said generously. “But remember it’s still my room.”
“Of course,” his mother agreed idly. “This is Jacob’s room.” And so it was.
– “Jacob’s Room,” Virginia Woolf
“The ice-man is here,” he said.
“How nice,” Mother said. “Tell him to come round back.”
“I will,” he said, and he did.
“Now we’ll have plenty of ice for the party tonight,” she said. They did, and it was wonderful. Everyone said they’d never had so much ice at one party before.
– “The Iceman Cometh,” Eugene O’Neill
“You’re sure you like it?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s a very nice room,” she answered.
“You wouldn’t like to switch or anything?”
“No, I’m fine here.”
“You’re not feeling stultified by English cultural repression or anything?”
“No, no, nothing of the kind.”
“All right,” he said, “as long as you like it. It does have a nice view.”
“A very nice view,” she agreed.
“So I suppose everything is all right.”
“Everything is.”
Everything was.
– “A Room With A View,” E.M. Forster
“Gosh, that’s lucky, Jim,” she said. “But then, you’re always lucky.”
“I suppose I am,” Jim said, and laughed. “I suppose you could call me Lucky Jim.”
“That’s taking things a bit too far, Jim,” she said sharply, and he didn’t bring it up again.
– “Lucky Jim,” Kingsley Amis
“What an enormous room,” Jacob thought to himself. “This is much bigger than my room back at home. Ah, but I mustn’t compare. It’s awfully nice to have a room of one’s own, no matter what the size.”
– “The Enormous Room,” ee cummings
Tags: books, novels without complications, things mallory does for no reason, using the term modernism pretty loosely
Fiction is way better without all that tedious ‘conflict’ and ‘plot’.
Thanks, Mallory! I see the light now.
Was there a plot in To The Lighthouse? I remember it chiefly for its total absence of plot or any other reason to carry on reading it. (It is the only one on that list I have actually read, and that was only because I had to at school.)
I tried to read To the Lighthouse in high school and gave up. Then I read it when I was in my late 20s and discovered what an astounding, rich, beautiful novel it was. I get that stream of consciousness is not for everyone, but damn, I loved that book.
No one should ruin it by forcing high school students to read it.
“He was the Rocking Horse Winner. Also, he had a problem with masturbating.”
DEAD.
I can’t decide which of these is the best, but man, that one KILLED.
I may be in love with this post.
Everything becomes somehow even more lovely if you imagine it being narrated by Tony and Control from A Bit of Fry and Laurie.
Perfect!!
The children had great fun playing in the river.
“Caddy, look at what you did. Your underwear’s all dirty!”
“Oh, you’re right. What a mess! I’m sure Dilsey knows how to deal with mud stains.”
She did, and they all had happy lives.
– “The Sound and The Fury”, William Faulkner’
Damn, modernists were all about rooms. Never noticed that before.
Objects, Food, Rooms
You’re tearing me apart, modernists!
“I wrote this song.”
“Oh, did you, J. Alfred?”
“Yeah. It’s a love song.”
“Well, that’s very nice. Let’s have some tea.”
And they did.
“Gosh,” she said, looking around. “What a dump.”
“Quiet, though.”
“Oh, yes.”
“No sound of water or anything to keep one up at night.”
“Oh, no.”
“Would you like a peach?”
“Hmm… sure, why not!”
“Well,” he said, “time to go home.”
“Like that Greek chap. The one from the war.”
“Ulysses?”
“Yes.”
“Hope it doesn’t take that long,” he said, and laughed heartily.
It didn’t. It didn’t even rain.
But they stopped for cocoa and nice chat, anyway.
“Stop off for a sandwich?”
“Nah. Kinda full from breakfast still. I’ll just head home now.”
“Right-ho. See ya.”
“That a cross you’re wearing?”
“Yes.”
They didn’t talk about it again.
Oh God yes.
Is that a giant wang on the To The Lighthouse cover? That is the only thing I can see.
There is no symbolism in modernism. Sometimes the lighthouse is just a lighthouse.
Honestly, I might have made it past page 20 if it was!
I’m pretttttty sure that’s a spaceship emitting a powerful tractor beam down toward the earth. The force of its pull, and the movements of the unseen figures it’s drawing up, are kicking up swirls of dust and dirt, which is what you see at the bottom of the frame.
To the Giant Wang is a pretty great title. I’d probably read that book.
I am feeling disproportionately reassured and comforted by the low stakes plot resolution.
Idea: Now we just need to illustrate them with a Dick and Jane sort of style and make a picture book. 🙂 I would buy it!
“Where could he be? Oh, there he is. Godot has a way of blending in, doesn’t he, Vlad?”
“What brings you aboard the Ship of Fools, Mrs Treadwell?”
“Why, I thought it was a pleasant season for a sea voyage, is all. How about you, Miss Lutz?”
“Same, really. No major ambition to change the course of my life, anyway.”
“Precisely. Shall we go play shuffleboard with Jenny?”
“Delightful.”
And they did.
“I kind of wish our sister wasn’t having all that sex”
“Yeah. Me too”
“It’d probably be best if we all stopped living in the past as well”
“Probably. It’ll be alright though, Quentin”
“Yeah, you’re right, Jason.”
“Let’s go get icecream”
-The Sound and the Fury
This makes me want to rewrite all the classic short stories into blandly pleasant descriptions of rooms:
A Perfect Room for Bananafish, in which Seymour Glass rides the elevator with an impish child also staying at his resort hotel, then walks down the hall to his room to find it full of fish — not flopping in despair, but swimming happily around in the ankle-deep water which is miraculously not incommoding other guests nor destroying the furniture and suitcases. The bananafish are just what Muriel needed to break out of her funk. They laugh together delightedly.
A Room Like White Elephants. The American and Jig catch their train and arrive at their intended destination, but it turns out the hotel has saved their shabbiest room for these late-arriving guests; it’s not a proper room at all, really something of a white elephant, a misfit, a weird assortment of nooks and windows and shaded corners. But after all their travels, Jig and her companion find it quite restful. Later, she is so relaxed and comfortable that she does the unthinkable: she asks his name.
A Good Room is Hard to Find. The whole family has been getting more and more fractious as the road trip continues. Finally, they see a farmhouse with a sign in the window: “rooms to let.” The rooms are airy and fresh-smelling, looking out over the farmland at the back of the house. The lady of the house brings in a fat, sturdy pitcher of lemonade, tinkling with ice she chipped off the block in the icebox. The family stops sniping at each other. Grandmother loosens her stays and cheers right up.
A coal shoveler passes a wealthy industrialist’s daughter on the street; they exchange polite nods. Later, he goes to the zoo and sees the apes. Everyone has a nice time.
“Sure sucks that Finnegans dead.”
“Yes. Let’s mourn him.”
— Finnegans Wake, James Joyce
“I think I shall take to the sea.”
– The Awakening, Kate Chopin
“What an enormous room. I can’t wait to tell my friends. They don’t have a room this big.”
This comment needs more upvotes.
*DYING*
“I know, this post is hilarious.”
“No, *DYING*
-“As I Lay Dying,” William Faulkner.
“Josef K, this traffic court finds you not guilty of violating Vehicle Law Section 1180. Your speeding ticket is dismissed, and you can go home.”
“He always presents a crisp figure, he’s tops at the rifle drill, and he’s kind to the elderly. As soldiers go, I’d say he’s a rather good one.”
“The best!”
Dude, get out of my brain. I was trying to read To The Lighthouse yesterday. And it was terrible. Though I’ve been told it gets better? I remain skeptical.
It does not get better. I love that book, even wrote my MA thesis on it, but it’s slow. Slooooooooow. Nothing happens. At all. Ever. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but if you want to get read it, I recommend reading it slowly, savoring the language and effect, and then binging on GAME OF THRONES.
I agree, you have to like that sort of books (and I do! I hate books with Events and god knows what. Tiny things of small importance to anyone but maybe a handful of people who really shouldn’t care but still do is what books should be about. Books for the fretful). Don’t expect Things to happen; most of it has already happened and they are dealing with it. Read it like it’s diaries. Real life is slow too. After a while you start commentating your own life in the same way. That is, unless your life is more interesting than mine.
I go back and forth. I’ll read a shit-load of plot-driven stuff like A Song of Ice & Fire and then start to resent the relentless machinery of plot humming beneath all character moments and decisions. So then I’ll read something like To the Lighthouse and feel refreshed, but then after a book or two of Nothing Happened and Everyone Was Sad, I get antsy for something to just fucking happen and it’s back to plot-driven books.
I love it too. It physically pains me to hear people say that it’s terrible. It’s fine if it’s not your cup of tea, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad book! But yeah, you definitely have to be interested in that kind of writing.
Time passes in the middle, though, pretty quickly, I would say, especially compared to what goes before and after.
While (!Armageddon) {
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA;
}
-“Infinite Jest”, David Foster Wallace
‘To the Lighthouse’ is chock-full of internal monologues of joyless people I’d never invite to a dinner party. Thanks for skipping that part.
“HI! HOW ARE YOU DOING TODAY? I AM FINE!”
“Jeez, can you quiet down a little? Or at least back up?”
“NO I CANNOT AND I WILL NOT EVER”
-“Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close”, Jonathan Safran Foer
“Hey guys, look over here!”
*no response, everyone stares at the sky*
“Come over here, look at this weird bug I found!”
*no response, everyone stares at the sky*
-“Their Eyes Were Watching God”, Zora Neale Hurston
“None of these men love me right. To hell with ’em.”
“You sure you don’t want to come outside, Your Majesty? You’ve been inside all day!”
“Nope, I’m good in here.”
“But Your Majesty, it’s nice and sunny out! Not all gloomy like it is in the castle.”
“I said I’m fine, damn it!”
-“The Pale King”, David Foster Wallace
“I woke up this morning and felt like I’d turned into a giant insect,” he said.
His sister put the milk down gently. “You’ve been going through a lot of changes recently. It’s probably giving you bad dreams!”
It was true. He took the day off work and felt much better.
“Being our sole foothold in our attempt to remain aristocratic is a lot of pressure, I think I’ll get a job too, get out of the house, make some friends.”
“Oh no! I screwed up the reservations, and now all my sons and all my lovers have been seated at the same table! This will be terribly awkward!”
(It was.)
<gasp>
Someone write this fic please, please please, grande dame, multiple charming lovers (possibly picked from her sons’ classmates or old girlfriends or boyfriends), multiple sons, everyone feeling suuuuper awkward, please writing people.
This might be a side effect of reading the bonobo article on the New Yorker; powerful males have lifelong alliances with their mother and benefit from her social connections.
“Have you heard Moby’s new album?”
“Nah, that guy’s an asshole. And his music blows.”
-“Moby Dick”, Herman Melville
“Hey, do you know why that bird over there is singing?”
“Yup.”
I can’t stop laughing and hating myself for being such a dork.
*fishing*
*solitude*
*FISHING AND SOLITUDE INTENSIFIES*
-“The Old Man and the Sea”, Ernest Hemingway
The weather was perfect and there were no sharks.
Well, what did you think we’d have on the farm? Minerals?
“There was a very good possibility of taking a walk that day. The weather outside was absolutely beautiful. The whole family took a walk and Jane thought she could never be happier, but she was later on after she got married to a rich, single man who encouraged her to read and had never imprisoned anyone in his attic.”
“Mrs. Dalloway sent her maid to buy the flowers. She spent the rest of the day planning her dinner party and didn’t have time to think of anything else.”
“Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.
But then I found a blaze on a tree
And soon found the visitor’s center
Where I enjoyed a nice hot cocoa
While looking at a diorama with a stuffed fox.”
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat is the third one?
Dante’s INFERNO. Not modernist at all (neither is Jane Eyre, I suppose), but I couldn’t resist.
Dante would have loved dioramas, wow. He would move in to the NY natural history museum and never leave.
Big fan of the “Mrs. Dalloway” one, even if it is a favorite of mine. 🙂
The tree that grows in Brooklyn is invasive in California; it grows everywhere it can. The adult trees send up suckers a hundred yards away; the sap raises welts on skin; the male flowers smell like that wastebasket you had in the bathroom of your first apartment.
It is lovely though. And the flowers are beautiful. When you find it in the woods, you know that Chinese people lived there during the Gold Rush because they packed dishes in boxes full of the seeds.
“that bird flew over the cuckoo’s nest. All the way over. Just one, though”
I always parse “iceman” as “yeti/abominable snowman/frost-giant” at first, and so “now we shall have plenty of ice for the party” suggests several horrible possibilities.
Possible dystopian novel in which refrigeration technology has been lost, and icemen are enslaved to hold things, and then to chip off parts of their own bodies?
Oh, and all of these comments sound like “Will Graham Has a Nice Day.”
and then they had tea
the tea was not people
the end
‘I don’t think we should sail down this river’, I said. ‘It’s too dark’.
The others agreed. We went home for tea, and decided that colonialism was almost certainly a bad thing.
– Heart of Darkness, Joseph Conrad
Why not do the same for pre-modern literature? The world has long been filled with bummer novels. Take this classic:
Raskolnikov: You got me there; I did kill that pawn woman.
Petrovich: I thought so. Shit happens, but at least you got the girl; and, more importantly, I was right.
Raskolnikov: Indeed! And Sonja is thrilled about relocating to Siberia!
Petrovich: All’s well that ends well, then!
Raskolnikov: Yessiree, Pet— can I call you “Pet”?— we’re tying the knot before we leave and will honeymoon on the train. Hubba hubba.
Petrovich: What a perfect couple! Say hello to the frozen tundra for me and remember to lift with your legs. O.K.?
Raskolnikov: God never gives us more than we can handle.
Petrovich pours two shots of vodka and the two merry men toast life’s wonders.
“This lady’s so soft, should I kill her?”
“No. Oh look, a mouse.”
Of Mice and Men
… Man, I just realized that this book treats the woman – who I don’t remember having a name – like shit. She’s cruel and childish and needy and doesn’t get half the sympathy Lennie does.
Oh hey, wikipedia has a quote!
Steinbeck explained that she is “not a person, she’s a symbol. She has no function, except to be a foil – and a danger to Lennie.”
Did you like “Anna Karenina”? I hated it. It seemed like she was being stalked by a man who could describe everything happening, but didn’t have a clue about who she was or what she wanted.
“I’ve never seen such beautiful shirts! But now I have. Yay, shirts!”
“Did we go west when we left Eden? I suck at directions.”
“Nah.”
“Ok cool.”
“First, you have to capture it. They’re speedy little buggers, so that can be tricky. I recommend luring them in with sweet things and then putting a cage over them. After that, it’s a piece of cake. Smash them, starve them, pretty much anything will work. They’re so small, you see.”
“I just wish you would buy milk, like, once a month or something? I eat cereal so it makes sense for me to buy it most of the time. But you still drink coffee, so.”
“No, yeah, of course. That’s very reasonable. I’m glad you told me, Portnoy”
“Cool. Because I didn’t want to be weird about it”
He shouldn’t have worried. The new system was great.
I just read this whole thing aloud to the Tall Man and it was better than the film we were watching.
The wallpaper was a lovely shade of yellow, and everyone who stayed in the room felt nice and cozy and could go out for a walk in the garden whenever they liked.
I was having a hot bath because I felt uneasy and suffocated in my life. Then I made up my mind to go out and buy myself some birth control and felt altogether much better.
There was a nice display of vintage bell jars in the chemist’s window.
I tried to read To the Lighthouse in high school and gave up. Then I read it when I was in my late 20s and discovered what an astounding, rich, beautiful novel it was. I get that stream of consciousness is not for everyone, but damn, I loved that book.
No one should ruin it by forcing high school students to read it.
I love it too. It physically pains me to hear people say that it's terrible. It's fine if it's not your cup of tea, but that doesn't mean it's a bad book! But yeah, you definitely have to be interested in that kind of writing.
It became clear that one of the only ways to procure a room of one’s own was to have one’s aunt make a bunch of money by colonising India, so she donated the room to a housing cooperative, and also took out that weird paragraph about Negresses.
A Room That Everyone Could Call One’s Own
Take all my likes!
But you guys, The Enormous Room. It’s unbelievable. I wish I could summon you all back here so you guys could read it and we could talk about it! It is hilarious and beautiful and heartbreaking and I have never known anyone else who has read it (in spite of my years of proselytizing) and every time I remember that it makes me really sad. SO GO READ IT! I’ll wait right here.
::whistles::
But you guys, The Enormous Room. It's unbelievable. I wish I could summon you all back here so you guys could read it and we could talk about it! It is hilarious and beautiful and heartbreaking and I have never known anyone else who has read it (in spite of my years of proselytizing) and every time I remember that it makes me really sad. SO GO READ IT! I'll wait right here.
::whistles::
“God and Jesus,” said Holden Caulfield, “being a rich white kid sucks. God. Everyone is so phony. It’s just the worst. I wish I could stand in a big field of rye and keep all the children coming through the field from ever growing up. Like, catch them before they fall off the metaphorical cliff of adulthood, you know?”
“Damn,” said Maurice, the pimp who was beating up Holden, “that’s pretty deep, bro. I think you’re just going through some teenage angst, though. Growing up is part of life.”
“What the fuck ever,” said Holden. “I’m just going to refuse to talk to people from now on.”
“Really? That’s a bit confusing, but I suppose we can adapt our translators. Our ‘forest’ is called ‘Earth'”.
“What an odd name! But I’m sure you’ll find our forest’s gravity and atmosphere equally pleasant. Welcome!”
— Ursula K. LeGuin, “The Word for World is Forest”