A pause in writing
about books has
come over me as I am struck silent, nearly, by a number of books: PARALLEL
LIVES by Peter Nadas, THE WALL by H. G. Adler, LARVA by Julian Rios, a new
version of THE BOOK OF DISQUIET by Fernando Pessoa (New Directions) and a
little aside, a new edition of THE RUIN
IS KASCH by Roberto Calasso coming from FSG in January.
Such is not unusual with a moment’s thought if we remember
that in the 1920s those who really read were given THE WASTE LAND by T.S.
Eliot, ULYSSES by James Joyce and the volumes by Marcel Proust that would
become IN SEARCH OF LOST TIME and in the Thirties: JOURNEY TO THE END OF NIGHT
by Louis Ferdinand Celine and THE MAN WITHOUT QUALITIES…
One is also well aware of the masses who can not live alone
in such solitude with a select few so the constant weekly announcements
continue to appear of this or that masterpiece which has its moment for a week,
a month, a season, a year and then… notice how forlorn THE WHITE HOTEL by
D.M.Thomas looks when you see it in the Salvation Army book section or possibly
a … (fill in any name you want…)
THE NECESSARY SECOND THOUGHT could be supplied with three
names:
Michel Leiris and his
two newly published books that are as if passing ghosts in the US: PHANTOM
AFRICA and the third book, FIBRILS, of
his memoir RULES OF THE GAME
and
H.G. ADLER THERESIENSTADT 1941-1945
and
Fleur Jaeggy has two little books: THESE POSSIBLE LIVES and I AM THE BROTHER OF
XX
A passage from Jaeggy that concerns itself with a photograph
of the mother’s audience with the Pope:
Her daughter, who does not
have the depth of the mother has always believed in the surface of things. And so in beauty. In appearance. What does she care about what is inside. Inside where?
And what is the inside? Anyway the daughter believes more in photographs
than in the people portrayed. A
photograph might tell more than a person.
Perhaps. Naturally perhaps. No affirmation could lead her to grant total
credence to the affirmation itself.
I would be
hard pressed to find any American author who one could imagine writing at this
level of thinking and precision.
To have an
audience with the Pope… I imagine I was caught by this as I had been visiting in
late August in London a friend who as a
young woman was sent by one of the elderly sisters of the martyred Patrick
Pearse to have a private audience with
John XXIII. The visit was arranged by
the Irish ambassador to the Vatican on the orders of someone in Dublin and my
friend said she did not know what to say to the Pope after being brought in
alone and he could see this so he asked if I had brought anything I would like
him to bless. I had only my glass case
in my hand and he gave that his blessing sending me on my way.
