(no subject)

[proximoception]

Reading Borges during the term was something I needed, and paid for. And I didn't actually do much of it - whereas now that I'm freeish I've been finishing about a book of his a day (short books, granted) and at this rate will soon be out of Borges. His works were just right for when I was dealing with Rhetoric awfulness and worse personal things because they're short, familiar, and in a sense limited - these jumps into the depths are so clean. I think I needed their emotional control, too. Couldn't take stains at the time.

I can no longer remember what getting through a book book is like, but am starting to realize I really do have the time - I picked up All the Pretty Horses and got to where they cross into Mexico, and Julie wants me to read Norwegian Wood, which she just reread and loves. I think I've been genuinely traumatized in my relation to time recently, probably related to the terrible insomnia I'm finally coming out of. Somehow the feeling that there were a million things to do stopped me from doing any of them, including the ones I liked. After the first night of real sleep I got - was this yesterday? - I solved half of my problems, and now feel a bit stunned.

And yet I was doing something all that time. Half the people in my year are dropping out with their Masters, and many of the others switched schools (good for them). What we do here feels abusive to me, but I knew most of it would; I think I might be seeing it have that effect on others as well. I don't really know what working too hard is like, so perhaps I've been doing it.

Did I mention this before: our year long teaching indoctrination sessions were headed by the pure theory guy here, and on the last day Tucker, one of my fellow assistant instructors in last year's Milton/Pullman course - and who's one of the nicest people - mentioned in passing that he thought that what made literature great was that it was universal, and at least potentially had something to say to everyone.

And the theory guy said, "Do you know how many theorists of the past fifty years would agree with that? [Pause for effect, further pause to look around to assess the effect of that pause.] None." And Tucker mumbled, "Well I guess I'm just an idiot then" in a moving combination of defiance and humiliation. The professor clearly thought he was giving salutary advice: you will not succeed unless you realize etc. But no bully over age twelve thinks he's bullying. I seethed but said nothing - I'd gotten into a thing with him about Foucault in Autumn that pretty much hijacked the class for a while, and had a long talk with myself after about shutting up. Another student, Laura, did pointedly stand up for him almost immediately after, in a polite way, "I actually think I agree with Tucker..." I think she did it twice, in fact. Anyway, the professor was like that all term - he might be one of the ones going mad, Lear-style, in reaction to the ambiguous signs of approaching theorydeath? I can never tell how much of that is just me wishing.

I'm eying Lucien Leuwen. I'm thinking of getting exercise that isn't just a walk around the block.

Comments

[grashupfer.livejournal.com]

Theorists.

Do you know how many theorists of the last fifty years I'd read again?

Maybe three.

Being out of Borges... we should coin a word for that as some sort of nutritionally deprived condition.

[proximoception.livejournal.com]

Which ones?

Uqbarren?

[agoraphiliac.livejournal.com]

Uqbarren. That's great.