From Charles-Sligh at utc.edu Tue Mar 17 07:24:56 2009 From: Charles-Sligh at utc.edu (Charles Sligh) Date: Tue, 17 Mar 2009 10:24:56 -0400 Subject: [ilds] where the ghost of that rascal durrell lurks. . . . Message-ID: <49BFB2B8.6030800@utc.edu> * Book Review: City of Longing: A Love Story by Victoria Thompson Written by JS Breukelaar Published March 17, 2009 http://blogcritics.org/archives/2009/03/17/011250.php* > 'Where do exiles begin their stories,' asks the central character in > City of Longing, 'those birds of passage, forever on the wing, > carrying their sense of impermanence like a cowl of grief?' > > Where indeed. In timeless fashion, Isabelle begins with a letter. The > letter is from an admirer, a fellow exile from Alexandria living in > London. For, like Victoria Thompson?s 1998 memoir, Losing Alexandria, > her second novel is about going home and discovering a la Gertrude > Stein, that there is no there, there. > > Isabelle, a not-so-fictional character based not so loosely on > Thompson herself, is languishing in Bondi, ?lost in that Down Under > continent where she had tumbled in perpetual exile.? At first Isabelle > wants to dismiss the letter as fan mail. After all, she is used to > admirers. Isabelle, like Victoria Thompson herself, is a former model, > dancer, and a great beauty. She is basking in the success of her > bestseller Losing Alexandria. This is one of many self-reflexive > moments that suggest there is more to this so-called novel than meets > the eye, a tantalising truth beating at the edges of the book like a > bird trapped in a kitchen -literally dying to get out. > > Isabelle ? a fan of Chopin, Byron, and the poet Cavafy ? is seduced by > the admirer?s melancholy: ?We may never meet, but I wish we had.? She > answers his letter, and in doing so seals her fate. A passionate > long-distance love blossoms between the mysterious Olivier and the > damaged Isabelle with unforeseen consequences for both. > > Olivier reads and rereads Isabelle?s book and in it finds a link to a > kindred spirit and also to his own past: the imprisonment and tragic > death of his Zionist mother, and to Alexandria itself - troubled city > of dark alleys and unsavoury secrets. On the other side of the globe, > Isabelle, sequestered in an unhappy marriage, falls for a mind as > keen, and a soul as keening as her own. > > Thompson has the chops to keep this story from softening into the > sentimental mush suggested by its premise. Apart from the occasional > lapse into meandering if informative riffs on animal rights or the > evils of modern medicine, City of Longing is rigorously researched and > teasingly paced. Its gratification is strategically delayed as to seem > almost hallucinatory. But reader beware. This is no dream. In spite of > the bewitching detours along the way ? E. M Forster?s infatuation with > the inimitable Cavafy, Lawrence Durrell?s tragic and destructive > relationship with his daughter, Mary Shelley?s lovelorn creation, and > above all Antony and Cleopatra ? reality bites hard. > > Question arise. For a start, there are practical considerations - will > Olivier and Isabelle ever meet, and how? But there are also questions > of identity. Who, after all is Olivier Valeur? He becomes secretive, > telling her that there are some things that can only be told face to > face. She is shocked to discover that he is rich, very rich. He makes > arrangements, books the Concord and rooms at The Four Seasons. He > promises to take her back to Alexandria. In a remarkable passage, he > dreams aloud: > > Think about it, what fun we could have ... I will take you to Delice > and Atheneos and to the Cecil Hotel where the ghosts of Justine, > Mountolive, Clea and that rascal Durrell must lurk. We will walk > through the streets of Alexandria and say, this is where Cleopatra > built her temple to her lover, and her Alexander is supposed to have > been buried. Over there is where Cavafy brought his Greek boys to the > shabby cheap room he kept in the old house above a taverna. I?ll take > you to the soukh and we?ll become wildly intoxicated with the perfume > of spicy cinnamon, clove, myrrh, frankincense, jonquil and jasmine. > Then we will drive to the desert and keep on driving until we vanish > into a mirage. > The melancholy, mysterious lover Olivier ? dreaming his dreams and > chasing mirages ? is typical of the modern exile. One notable absence > from Thompson?s lonely hearts? club is the late scholar Edward Said, > whose reflections on exile and Diaspora have brought this ageless > plight into the modern context. According to Said, the contemporary > exile suffers a loss, not only of place, but also of faith in being > able to make a new world to rule out of the ruins of the old. To > compensate, he or she creates a realm that more closely resembles > fiction than reality (the so-called New World a case in point). Such > is it with the lovers in City of Longing whose New Worlds are > separated by oceans - his world of the rich and famous in London, hers > of activism and reform ?Down Under?. > > Still other questions arise. If Isabelle is real, or based on Thompson > herself, what does that make Olivier? Is he a fantasy brought to life > by her own desires, a ?Dear Reader? stitched together, like > Frankenstein?s creature, by the intensity of solitude and longing? One > suspects that there is more to it than that. Thompson plants > tantalising clues. Olivier has two grown children - an emerging writer > and a well-known photographer. He has had his portrait painted by both > Lucien Freud and Francis Bacon. He is a great philanthropist, a > brilliant scholar. One wonders what kind of book this would have been > had Thompson decided, as she did in Losing Alexandria, to name names. > After all, the chapters in the latter dealing with her brother-in-law, > Jack Thompson, as well as Patrick White are riveting, and one gets the > impression that City of Longing has similar dirt to dish. > > But Thompson has attempted to write a very different book, one that > stands on its own without the Judas-kiss of celebrity, and for the > most part she has succeeded. City of Longing is an exquisitely woven > tale of love and loss, and if Thompson is playing her cards close to > her chest, one can only hope that she is also keeping her beloved > Cavafy?s words close to her heart: ?Above all, don?t fool yourself, > don?t say/ it was a dream...? -- ******************************************** Charles L. Sligh Assistant Professor Department of English University of Tennessee at Chattanooga charles-sligh at utc.edu ******************************************** From godshawl at email.uc.edu Thu Mar 19 09:35:33 2009 From: godshawl at email.uc.edu (W. L. Godshalk) Date: Thu, 19 Mar 2009 12:35:33 -0400 Subject: [ilds] where the ghost of that rascal durrell lurks. . . . In-Reply-To: <49BFB2B8.6030800@utc.edu> References: <49BFB2B8.6030800@utc.edu> Message-ID: <6.0.0.22.2.20090319123511.03d3b420@email.uc.edu> thank you, sir good stuff At 10:24 AM 3/17/2009, you wrote: >* >Book Review: City of Longing: A Love Story by Victoria Thompson >Written by JS Breukelaar >Published March 17, 2009 > >http://blogcritics.org/archives/2009/03/17/011250.php* > > > 'Where do exiles begin their stories,' asks the central character in > > City of Longing, 'those birds of passage, forever on the wing, > > carrying their sense of impermanence like a cowl of grief?' > > > > Where indeed. In timeless fashion, Isabelle begins with a letter. The > > letter is from an admirer, a fellow exile from Alexandria living in > > London. For, like Victoria Thompson?s 1998 memoir, Losing Alexandria, > > her second novel is about going home and discovering a la Gertrude > > Stein, that there is no there, there. > > > > Isabelle, a not-so-fictional character based not so loosely on > > Thompson herself, is languishing in Bondi, ?lost in that Down Under > > continent where she had tumbled in perpetual exile.? At first Isabelle > > wants to dismiss the letter as fan mail. After all, she is used to > > admirers. Isabelle, like Victoria Thompson herself, is a former model, > > dancer, and a great beauty. She is basking in the success of her > > bestseller Losing Alexandria. This is one of many self-reflexive > > moments that suggest there is more to this so-called novel than meets > > the eye, a tantalising truth beating at the edges of the book like a > > bird trapped in a kitchen -literally dying to get out. > > > > Isabelle ? a fan of Chopin, Byron, and the poet Cavafy ? is seduced by > > the admirer?s melancholy: ?We may never meet, but I wish we had.? She > > answers his letter, and in doing so seals her fate. A passionate > > long-distance love blossoms between the mysterious Olivier and the > > damaged Isabelle with unforeseen consequences for both. > > > > Olivier reads and rereads Isabelle?s book and in it finds a link to a > > kindred spirit and also to his own past: the imprisonment and tragic > > death of his Zionist mother, and to Alexandria itself - troubled city > > of dark alleys and unsavoury secrets. On the other side of the globe, > > Isabelle, sequestered in an unhappy marriage, falls for a mind as > > keen, and a soul as keening as her own. > > > > Thompson has the chops to keep this story from softening into the > > sentimental mush suggested by its premise. Apart from the occasional > > lapse into meandering if informative riffs on animal rights or the > > evils of modern medicine, City of Longing is rigorously researched and > > teasingly paced. Its gratification is strategically delayed as to seem > > almost hallucinatory. But reader beware. This is no dream. In spite of > > the bewitching detours along the way ? E. M Forster?s infatuation with > > the inimitable Cavafy, Lawrence Durrell?s tragic and destructive > > relationship with his daughter, Mary Shelley?s lovelorn creation, and > > above all Antony and Cleopatra ? reality bites hard. > > > > Question arise. For a start, there are practical considerations - will > > Olivier and Isabelle ever meet, and how? But there are also questions > > of identity. Who, after all is Olivier Valeur? He becomes secretive, > > telling her that there are some things that can only be told face to > > face. She is shocked to discover that he is rich, very rich. He makes > > arrangements, books the Concord and rooms at The Four Seasons. He > > promises to take her back to Alexandria. In a remarkable passage, he > > dreams aloud: > > > > Think about it, what fun we could have ... I will take you to Delice > > and Atheneos and to the Cecil Hotel where the ghosts of Justine, > > Mountolive, Clea and that rascal Durrell must lurk. We will walk > > through the streets of Alexandria and say, this is where Cleopatra > > built her temple to her lover, and her Alexander is supposed to have > > been buried. Over there is where Cavafy brought his Greek boys to the > > shabby cheap room he kept in the old house above a taverna. I?ll take > > you to the soukh and we?ll become wildly intoxicated with the perfume > > of spicy cinnamon, clove, myrrh, frankincense, jonquil and jasmine. > > Then we will drive to the desert and keep on driving until we vanish > > into a mirage. > > The melancholy, mysterious lover Olivier ? dreaming his dreams and > > chasing mirages ? is typical of the modern exile. One notable absence > > from Thompson?s lonely hearts? club is the late scholar Edward Said, > > whose reflections on exile and Diaspora have brought this ageless > > plight into the modern context. According to Said, the contemporary > > exile suffers a loss, not only of place, but also of faith in being > > able to make a new world to rule out of the ruins of the old. To > > compensate, he or she creates a realm that more closely resembles > > fiction than reality (the so-called New World a case in point). Such > > is it with the lovers in City of Longing whose New Worlds are > > separated by oceans - his world of the rich and famous in London, hers > > of activism and reform ?Down Under?. > > > > Still other questions arise. If Isabelle is real, or based on Thompson > > herself, what does that make Olivier? Is he a fantasy brought to life > > by her own desires, a ?Dear Reader? stitched together, like > > Frankenstein?s creature, by the intensity of solitude and longing? One > > suspects that there is more to it than that. Thompson plants > > tantalising clues. Olivier has two grown children - an emerging writer > > and a well-known photographer. He has had his portrait painted by both > > Lucien Freud and Francis Bacon. He is a great philanthropist, a > > brilliant scholar. One wonders what kind of book this would have been > > had Thompson decided, as she did in Losing Alexandria, to name names. > > After all, the chapters in the latter dealing with her brother-in-law, > > Jack Thompson, as well as Patrick White are riveting, and one gets the > > impression that City of Longing has similar dirt to dish. > > > > But Thompson has attempted to write a very different book, one that > > stands on its own without the Judas-kiss of celebrity, and for the > > most part she has succeeded. City of Longing is an exquisitely woven > > tale of love and loss, and if Thompson is playing her cards close to > > her chest, one can only hope that she is also keeping her beloved > > Cavafy?s words close to her heart: ?Above all, don?t fool yourself, > > don?t say/ it was a dream...? > > > >-- >******************************************** >Charles L. Sligh >Assistant Professor >Department of English >University of Tennessee at Chattanooga >charles-sligh at utc.edu >******************************************** > >_______________________________________________ >ILDS mailing list >ILDS at lists.uvic.ca >https://lists.uvic.ca/mailman/listinfo/ilds From dtart at bigpond.net.au Fri Mar 20 17:37:35 2009 From: dtart at bigpond.net.au (Denise Tart & David Green) Date: Sat, 21 Mar 2009 11:37:35 +1100 Subject: [ilds] NEPENTHE Message-ID: <329D63AED69B4E35AA6E046BA3E5287D@MumandDad> IF you love the world of Durrell and Douglas and David, as I do, then, in this country at least, you can exist in something of a cultural void. Imagine my surprise when, as I called into my local grog shop this morning, I noticed a bottle of Sauvingon Blanc named 'Nepenthe'. My first reaction was that it must be Italian wine. The owners of the shop are Italian and stock a range of that country's wines; but no, the maker was a South Australian 'Barossa Valley' wine company whose owner is clearly a Norman Douglas fan. Well, it's a fresh, amusing and light white rather like a Trebbiano D' Arbruzzo; perfect for an 11:30am drink as Douglas liked to have. Someone needs to make 'Prospero's wine'. David 16 William Street Marrickville NSW 2204 +61 2 9564 6165 0412 707 625 dtart at bigpond.net.au -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: http://lists.uvic.ca/pipermail/ilds/attachments/20090321/2ed48c19/attachment.html From minakakisl at gmail.com Sat Mar 21 08:03:26 2009 From: minakakisl at gmail.com (Lou Minakakis) Date: Sat, 21 Mar 2009 11:03:26 -0400 Subject: [ilds] Cavafy - Man with a Past Message-ID: <8fe1f68d0903210803m297f73d8u7e1f42fd17807193@mail.gmail.com> http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/books/2009/03/23/090323crbo_books_chiasson BOOKS review of two volumes of poetry by C. P. Cavafy. Constantine Cavafy, the greatest Greek poet since antiquity, spent thirty-three years in Alexandria, Egypt, from 1889 to 1922, as a part-time clerk. By day, he performed his ordinary Alexandrian act. At night he paid beautiful young men?dishwashers and tailors? assistants and grocery boys?for sex. Cavafy?s work draws from two intensely private sources: the old histories of the Hellenic world which he read in the evenings, and the nights of sex that ensued. His readers were limited to the select group who received his poems, privately printed on broadsheets or bound in folders. Daniel Mendelsohn has translated all of Cavafy?s poems, including the thirty ?unfinished? poems never before rendered in English. The results?now published in two volumes, ?C. P. Cavafy: The Collected Poems? (Knopf; $35) and ?C. P. Cavafy: Unfinished Poems? (Knopf; $30) ?are extraordinary, and a whole galaxy orbits them. Cavafy thought of himself as a ?poet-historian,? which meant that he viewed all human conduct, his own included, in the light of recorded time. He was fifty-three when he met E. M. Forster, who became a good friend, but in certain ways his life had just begun. Cavafy was born in 1863 into a merchant family that was prominent in Alexandria?s Greek colony. As an adult, he took care of his mother, while sneaking out at night to cruise for young men. Cavafy wrote a number of erotic poems in historical dress, but until 1918 he hadn?t attempted direct treatment of homosexual desire. In the next fifteen years, until his death, in 1933, Cavafy would complete one of the great bodies of poetry in any literature, and the ?sensual? poems, as he called them, were at its heart. The approach feels radical. Cavafy?s relative verbal barrenness has meaning, but the meaning depends on measuring his deliberately flat diction against an often complex prosody. In 1975, Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard published ?C. P. Cavafy: Collected Poems,? and it became the official English Cavafy. Now a second generation of poets was reading Cavafy, including Czeslaw Milosz, Robert Hass, and Louise Gl?ck. Cavafy?s idea that experience comes ?to stay here in this poetry? wagers that the poetry itself is going to stay. Yet it?s hard to know how Cavafy envisioned his poems? afterlives and his own posthumous reputation. He did almost none of the obvious things poets do to rig the future in their favor. -------------- next part -------------- An HTML attachment was scrubbed... URL: http://lists.uvic.ca/pipermail/ilds/attachments/20090321/3ead46c5/attachment.html