Blogging the Bookshelf » Literature

Chinese Romance – “Twenty fragments of a ravenous youth” – Xiaolu Guo

Tim — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 23:32:06 +0000

YOU CAN CHECK ANY CHINESE DICTIONARY, there’s no word for romance. We say ‘Lo Man’, copying the English pronunciation. What the fuck use was a word like romance to me anyway? There wasn’t much of it about in China, and Beijing was the least romantic place in the whole universe. ‘Eat first, talk later,’ as old people say.

So Why Didn’t an Australian Kill Hitler? – “Fromelles” – Patrick Lindsay

Tim — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 04:30:06 +0000

The Luftwaffe bombed (Fromelles) on 27 May 1940, destroying some buildings when British ammunition trucks parked there were hit and exploded. The following day the Germans occupied the town once again. Then things went along uneventfully until 25 June, when France surrendered to the Germans. That very day, Chancellor Adolf Hitler, the former humble lance-corporal who had served with the 16th Bavarian Reserve Infantry Regiment at Fromelles, swept back into the village in triumph. With his entourage, including former comrades from 1916, Hitler spent the evening near Fromelles quietly celebrating victory over France at the second attempt. Hitler and his comrades-in-arms then toured the battlefield and were photographed outside the blockhouse where he took refuge during the battle from the advancing Australians, about 800 meteres along Rue de la Biette, down the hill from the Fromelles church and behind Rouges Bancs. Hitler then moved off to visit his old billet and his regiment’s cemetery in Fournes, never to be seen again in Fromelles.

So theoretically, an enterprising Aussie at Fromelles in WW1 could have shot Hitler and prevented the Holocaust!

Don’t Forget me Cobber – “Fromelles” – Patrick Lindsay

Tim — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 02:02:05 +0000

Bean highlights the work of one of the rescuers, 40 year old Victorian farmer, Sergeant Simon Fraser of the 57th Battalion, and quotes from a letter Fraser later wrote him:

“It was no light work getting in with a heavy weight on you back, especially if he had a broken leg or arm and no stretcher bearer was handy. You had to lie down and get him on your back; then rise and duck for your life with the chance of getting a bullet in you before you were safe.

Fraser recalled finding a group of wounded near the German line and, after bringing them in safely, hearing another call for help. He went again and eventually found this man too. He was a big strapping man wounded in the thigh – too heavy for Fraser to carry on his back – so he helped him into a sheltering shell hole and promised to return with a stretcher. As he moved off, he heard another wounded Digger near by call: ‘Don’t forget me, cobber!’. Fraser was able to return with stretchers and bring them both in safely.

The cry, ‘Don’t forget me, cobber!’ has come to symbolise the selfless devotion of those who risked, and often lost, their lives to bring in their wounded mates…. And it prompted the wonderful sculpture by Peter Corlett that today stands in the Australian Memorial Park at Fromelles. This statue immortalises Simon Fraser’s heroism and stands as a superb symbol of the sacrifice and devotion that characterised the battle and its aftermath. Fraser survived Fromelles and was promoted to Lieutenant in April 1917. Sadly, he fell at the battle of Bullecourt and, ironically, his body was never found.

Hatred and History – “Disgrace” – J.M. Coetzee

Tim — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 02:11:05 +0000

Halfway home, Lucy, to his surprise, speaks. ‘It was so personal,’ she says. ‘It was done with such personal hatred. That was what stunned me more than anything. The rest was … expected. But why did they hate me so? I had never set eyes on them.’

He waits for more, but there is no more, for the moment. ‘It was history speaking through them,’ he offers at last. ‘A history of wrong. Think of it that way, if it helps. It may have seemed personal, but it wasn’t. It came down from the ancestors.’

Fathers and Daughters – “Disgrace” – J.M. Coetzee

Tim — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 23:41:06 +0000

But he is a father, that is his fate, and as a father grows older he turns more and more – it cannot be helped – toward his daughter. She becomes his second salvation, the bride of his youth reborn. No wonder, in fairy-stories, queens try to hound their daughters to their death!

He sighs, Poor Lucy! Poor Daughters! What a destiny, what a burden to bear!

True Philosophers – “Cannery Row” – John Steinbeck

Tim — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 04:37:05 +0000

Doc said, “Look at them. There are your true philosophers. I think,” he went on, “that Mack and the boys know everything that has ever happened in the world and possibly everything that will happen. I think they survive in this particular world better than other people. In a time when people tear themselves to pieces with ambition and nervousness and covetousness, they are relaxed. All of our so-called successful men are sick men, with bad stomachs, and bad souls, but Mack and the boys are healthy and curiously clean. They can do what they want. They can satisfy their appetites without calling them something else.”

This speech so dried out Doc’s throat that he drained his beer glass. He waved two fingers in the air and smiled. “There’s nothing like that first taste of beer,” he said.

Richard Frost said, “I think they’re just like anyone else. They just haven’t any money.”

“They could get it,” Doc said. “They could ruin their lives and get money. Mack has qualities of genius. They’re all very clever if they want something. They just know the nature of things too well to be caught in that wanting.”

If Doc had known of the sadness of Mack and the boys he would not have made the next statement, but no one had told him about the social pressure that was exerted against the inmates of the Palace.

A Dying Party – “Cannery Row” – John Steinbeck

Tim — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 02:27:05 +0000

No one has studied the psychology of a dying party. It may be raging, howling, boiling, and then a fever sets in and a little silence and then quickly quickly it is gone, the guests go home or go to sleep or wander away to some other affair and they leave a dead body.

The Model T Ford – “Cannery Row” – John Steinbeck

Tim — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 00:02:05 +0000

Someone should write an erudite essay on the moral, physical, and esthetic effect of the Model T Ford on the American nation. Two generations of Americans knew more about the Ford coil than the clitoris, about the planetary system of gears than the solar system of stars. With the Model T, part of the concept of private property disappeared. Pliers ceased to be privately owned and a tire pump belonged to the last man who had picked it up. Most of the babies of the period were conceived in Model T Fords and not a few were born in them. The theory of the Anglo Saxon home became so warped that it never quite recovered.

The Boiler – “Cannery Row” – John Steinbeck

Tim — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 04:46:05 +0000

In April 1932 the boiler at the Hediondo Cannery blew a tube for the third time in two weeks and the board of directors consisting of Mr. Randolph and a stenographer decided that it would be cheaper to buy a new boiler than to have to shut down so often. In time the new boiler arrived and the old one was moved into the vacant lot between Lee Chong’s and the Bear Flag Restaurant where it was set on blocks to await an inspiration on Mr. Randolph’s part on how to make some money out of it. Gradually the plant engineer removed the tubing to use to patch other outworn equipment at the Hediondo. The boiler looked like an old-fashioned locomotive without wheels. It had a big door in the center of its nose and a low fire door. Gradually it became red and soft with rust and gradually the mallow weeds grew up around it and the flaking rust fed the weeds. Flowering myrtle crept up its sides and the wild anise perfumed the air about it. Then someone threw out a datura root and the thick fleshy tree grew up and the great white bells hung down over the boiler door and at night the flowers smelled of love and excitement, an incredibly sweet and moving odor.

Doc’s Mind Had No Horizon – “Cannery Row” – John Steinbeck

Tim — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 02:01:06 +0000

Doc would listen to any kind of nonsense and change it for you to a kind of wisdom. His mind had no horizon—and his sympathy had no warp. He could talk to children, telling them very profound things so that they understood. He lived in a world of wonders, of excitement. He was concupiscent as a rabbit and gentle as hell. Everyone who knew him was indebted to him. And everyone who thought of him thought next, “I really must do something nice for Doc.