Quote of the Day (Carlin)

"Why do they lock gas station bathrooms? Are they afraid someone will clean them?"—The late comedian George Carlin

Quote of the Day (Poe)

“Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the common-place- some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.”—Edgar Allan Poe, “The Black Cat”

(A typical Poe horror tale, “The Black Cat” was published on this date in United States Saturday Post in 1843. It features the kind of mad, unreliable narrator found in other Poe tales of the macabre such as “The Cask of Amontillado” and “The Tell-Tale Heart.” You’d be mad, too, if, like the protagonist in this story, you had become alcoholic, gouged out the eye of a cat, hung it, tries to kill another cat but ends up killing his wife instead, then walls her up in the cellar wall with the cat to conceal evidence of the crime.

The question arises how autobiographical this story is. Well, Poe at one point owned a black cat, and he supposedly killed a pet fawn belonging to his guardian’s wife, but that’s about it. Someone else actually identified with the events of the tale far more: Richard Wright, who as a child set fire to his grandmother’s house and later hanged a kitten with a string. Wright was impressed enough with Poe’s tale to allude to it in his 1940 novel Native Son, in which Bigger Thomas at one points confronts a cat and its “two green pools—pools of association and guilt.”

Incidentally, that 1934 film starring Bela Lugosi? It’s got virtually nothing in common with this story except the title. Actually, the film treatments that came closer to its essence were D.W. Griffith’s Avenging Conscience and a 1968 Japanese version.)

This Day in Literary History (Nabokov’s “Lolita” Published in U.S.)

August 18, 1958—Taking a chance that four other American publishers had passed on, G.P. Putnam published Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov, without disruption. 

In fact, the novel would not face the same legal difficulties that had bedeviled it in Europe, where the authorities in Great Britain and France imposed censorship bans because of Nabokov’s explosive subject: pedophilia. Just remember to tell that to the next jaded Continental who kvetches about us “puritanical Americans”!

The novel almost didn’t see the light of day at all:

1) After “five years of monstrous misgivings and diabolical labors,” Nabokov carried his manuscript and all his notecards out to the incinerator behind his house before his wife Vera prevailed on him not to give up on the project.

2) Just finding a publisher became an ordeal. Despite the reputation he earned as a superb stylist in his memoir Speak, Memory (1948), the Russian émigré’s 12th novel (and his third in English) was considered radioactive. Nabokov had to go to Paris to find a publisher: Maurice Girodias of Olympia Press. The author was evidently unaware of Girodias’ reputation as a self-described “gentleman-pornographer”—someone who not only published the likes of Samuel Beckett, Jean Genet, William S. Burroughs, the Marquis de Sade, and John Cleland, but also figures with less literary, far raunchier content.

The tale of Humbert Humbert and his infatuation with nymphet Dolores Haze—aka Lolita—caused considerable consternation in Europe. 

Publishing an English-language title in Paris might have seemed at the time a surefire way to slip the book under the censors’ radar, but it didn’t work—the book ended up banned for two years. 

In England, while one critic called it “the filthiest book I have ever read” (probably ensuring at least another 5,000 copies sold), novelist Graham Greene called it one of the best books of the year.

(Greene’s praise was not necessarily an unalloyed blessing. British readers with long memories would have recalled the novelist’s controversial comment over 20 years ago in his job as a film critic, where comments on Shirley Temple’s “dimpled depravity” and “neat and well-muscled rump” put him in the crosshairs of a libel suit by Twentieth Century Fox.)

All of this hullabaloo ensured that Lolita found a receptive audience when it was published stateside. It sold 2,600 copies on its first day in the bookstores and 100,000 copies in its first three months of publication, duplicating Gone With the Wind’s startling achievement of two decades earlier.

I first read the novel in Ann Douglas’ excellent Postwar American Literature class at Columbia University in 1982. 

I was unprepared for one aspect of its structure: it’s a road novel. It didn’t strike me at the time, but it followed by a year another novel in that course in which a protagonist took to America’s highways: Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. (In fact, a CNN story on Lolita even includes an interactive map.)

The émigré Nabokov’s take on America is far less Whitmanesque, far more satiric than Kerouac’s. The country that the European intellectual Humbert discovers is, like Lolita herself, innocent if somewhat trashy. 

It was a nation that was already experimenting with the motels and strip centers that proliferated. especially once the interstate highway system (created only a couple of years before) came into its own.

Nabokov—a frequent road traveler himself in pursuit of his hobby of collecting butterflies—was so inspired by the oddball names he discovered in atlases that he came up with shameless puns such as this: “We had breakfast in the township of Soda, pop 1,001.”

(Speaking of Soda…Do you think that George Costanza of Seinfeld might have read this novel? At first, I might have said no. Portnoy’s Complaint would have been too close for comfort; Harold Robbins and Mickey Spillane, with their lack of artistry, would have appealed to someone like him who never let grace get in the way of a move on a woman, as witnessed his pursuit of Marisa Tomei. But if not from Nabokov, what the heck else could have inspired Seinfeld’s Sancho Panza to provide a couple with the name “Soda” for their child?)

Lolita was not the first major American novel to treat child molestation—in the 1930s, Nicole Diver of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender Is The Night and Gloria Wandrous of John O’Hara’s Butterfield 8 were both abuse victims. 

But these books featured third-person narrators who considered the victims as adults suffering the aftereffects of abuse. That increases the distance and coolness with which readers view the sordid events.

In contrast, Lolita makes it impossible to turn away:

* The female victim is not an adult looking back, but a pre-pubescent;
* The elaborate seduction and subsequent acts are described rather than summarized or implied;
* The narrator is the predator himself, who employs humor and even addresses the reader as “Brother” on at least one occasion—a wheedling attempt at self-justification by a man who comes to indict himself more for robbing a girl's innocence than for murdering an even worse pervert (Clare Quilty) than himself.

The name “Lolita” has become synonymous with young girls of dangerously budding sexuality. Amy Fisher, of course, was the “Long Island Lolita”; Sharon Stone’s daughter in Jim Jarmusch’s Broken Flowers, who disorients Bill Murray with her lack of clothing, also is named after the Nabokov character.

And, despite his disdain for Freud, Nabokov has become the paramount creator of a psychological type, in the same manner that Machiavelli now stands for a style of politics removed from standards of morality or behavior. 

In “Don’t Stand So Close to Me,” the main character in the song by The Police “starts to shake and cough/Just like the old man in/That book by Nabokov.” (A slight error—Humbert is middle-aged—but the idea of a dirty old man appeals to the common stereotype in this type of case.)

One last note: Nabokov might have drawn at least some of his inspiration from a real-life case involving a New Jersey girl, according to Nabokov scholar Alexander Dolinin of the University of Wisconsin. 

Florence Sally Horner, an 11-year-old Camden girl, was blackmailed by middle-aged car mechanic Frank LaSalle, who had caught her shoplifting a five-cent notebook. The two then spent the next 21 months on the road, like Humbert and Lolita, before Horner turned in her kidnapper.

In her attempt to regain a normal life, Lolita died in childbirth; Sally Horner’s life also ended tragically with her death in an auto accident at age 15. LaSalle—euphemistically called a “moral leper” by the judge—received a 30-35 year prison sentence for kidnapping.

Quote of the Day (Johnson, quoted by James Boswell)

“Wickedness is always easier than virtue; for it takes the short cut to everything.”—Dr. Samuel Johnson, quoted in James Boswell, Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides with Samuel Johnson, LL.D. (1786)

(On this date in 1773, English literary lion Johnson and his younger Scottish friend Boswell embarked on a seven-week tour of northeast and northwest Scotland plus several of the islands in the Inner Hebrides. To me, this grand tour is all the more surprising given Johnson’s dislike for Scotland! Johnson’s account, A Journey to the Western Isles of Scotland, published only two years after the trip, was derived largely from memory; Boswell’s, finished in 1786, was based on his contemporaneous notes. It's a forerunner of the epic life of Johnson, in all his quirky, brilliant humanity, that, when it appeared five years later, would revolutionize the art of biographies.)

Chautauqua Journal—Part II (Monday, Aug. 4—Day 2)

Breakfast and Berlin

First question of the day: What to do about breakfast? I wanted to stretch my travel dollar while eating something relatively substantial and enjoying something variety in meals. Last year, with the closing of longtime eatery Sadie J’s, I resorted to Afterwords, a bakery/café located next to the Chautauqua Post Office. This attempt to replicate a Starbucks-like experience on the grounds of Chautauqua, however, left me flat, because it did not have the neighborhood ambiance that’s such an essential ingredient of my local Starbucks. (The café must have had a jolt of excitement the week before, however: on July 27, a week before I came, it was the site of a Democratic Platform committee meeting. Judging from past trips up here, I’d be surprised if John McCain received a single vote from anyone on the grounds here.)

So I went to Afterwords again, but not with much enthusiasm, and resolving to locate other eateries (including Sadie J’s, now reopened and sharing its location with The Season Ticket).

Chautauaqua presents a visitor with a dilemma: the need for R&R versus the desire to experience as much of the institution’s daily schedule as possible. Throughout the week, the hours before 10:30 am are filled with denominational services (including a daily Roman Catholic mass) and a “Devotional Hour” featuring a particular minister.

On the other hand, I’ve traditionally used this hour or so, along with an additional one early in the afternoon, to take special studies classes. You can attend a single class or, if you like, an entire week. In past years, I took classes in writing, beginning photography, the “Great Triumvirate” (Webster, Clay and Calhoun), Isaac Bashevis Singer, conducting oral histories, and “Twelfth Night.” This year, my final choices for the particular week I wanted came down to Thomas Merton, the Book of Job, the first women’s rights convention at Seneca Falls, and Tin Pan Alley composers. After much pondering, once I got on the grounds, I rushed to Hultquist Center (a mistake—I could have done this at the front gate, closer to my inn) and picked the last two classes.

The first class, on Tin Pan Alley, meets in the Turner Community Center, at the edge of the Chautauqua grounds, close to the road. It must have seemed great to the planners of the curriculum to put courses in this former elementary school. But for me, located close to the amphitheater, it’s a hike—and then getting back to the amphitheater in time for the morning lecture means a sprint.

No matter. I could tell within 10 minutes that I’d really enjoy this class. Remarkably, for a nonprofessional musician, Phil Atteberry displayed an encyclopedic knowledge of the week’s composers—Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern, Cole Porter, George Gershwin, and Richard Rodgers. For all the trivia he knows, he also succinctly more theoretically points—pointing out, for instance, that even the relatively simple early work of the subject of today’s class, Irving Berlin, was still more complex than the work of early rock ‘n’ rollers, largely because the latter was based on the blues.

Did I ever tell you one of my marks of a professional? Someone who gives his all whether 2 people show up for an event or 2 million. Atteberry was such a class act. For the first class, only an elder gentleman and I showed up. At no time in the rest of the week would more than six people come to class. Atteberry still kept us enthralled with his lore. All that knowledge most be lost on all the teens and early twentysomethings he teaches in the University of Pittsburgh at Titusville (where he not only teaches jazz, but also composition and literature).

Lunch and Seneca Falls

When class ended, I hurried over to the 5,000-seat Amphitheater, the institution’s physical and psychological center. Tiers descending toward the stage provide excellent visibility for listeners. As I quickly discovered, it’s best to use foam cushions when sitting on the hard wooden benches. (The Institution thoughtfully sells these in the gift center at the Main Gate—though I think, at $12 a shot, that it’s slightly overpriced.) Once you’re settled and comfortable, you can more easily enjoy the enormous variety of events occurring there, including Sunday evening “sacred song” services backed by the Massey Memorial Organ, the largest outdoor pipe organ in the world; weekday lectures at 10:45 am; noontime mini-concerts; and full-scale evening concerts. Lecturers address different themes throughout the season. This week’s theme was on “Faith in Public Life,” with Newsweek editor Jon Meacham getting things off to a great start. (For my account of the speech, please see my post from the day after the event.)

Lunch at the Refectory Café (see the attached photo), a short walk, thankfully, from the Amphitheater, was short. I didn’t know the exact location of the next class, on “The Road to Seneca Falls,” but knew that it would be back past the Amphitheater and that I’d have to hustle again. The room, across from Alumni Hall (site of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle), was not much bigger than a hut, and the instructor, Rick Swegan, told us not to get too used to it—if the temperatures rose over the next few days it wouldn’t be comfortable, so he intended to find a new venue for us. (After a few minutes in the tiny building, I’m glad he did.)

An organizational consultant in his non-Chautauqua life, Rick was frank almost to the point of being apologetic about his lack of a background as a professional historian. He shouldn’t have been, though: as a descendant of Mary Ann McClintock, one of the founders of the Seneca Falls Convention, he had an unquenchable personal interest in the subject, and his professional background made him comfortable in addressing audiences and covering material quickly.

I took the class in the hope that I’d learn a lot more about this seminal event in the women’s rights movement than I had a few weeks ago, when I’d written a post on the event. That certainly turned out to be the case.

Blogging and Current Events

Following class, I worked on my blog in the Chautauqua Library. Whenever possible, I try to use my laptop near an outlet, at a table, sitting up. A reference librarian could find only one spot in the building near an outlet, and it was not exactly the best. It was near a cubbyhole by the window, but I had almost to step over an oblivious teenager. As I stepped over his network of wires, I decided that, despite my desire to write around people (it makes you feel less lonely), it might have been the better part of valor to write at Carey Cottage Inn, either downstairs or, if necessary, up in my room.

Over the 12-14 years I’ve come to Chautauqua, the single biggest change I’ve noticed is the use of the laptop. Even people two to three decades older than me are using laptops up here (although from what I’ve heard in speaking with them, my blog won’t be finding any new readers from this group—“blogging” is still a new concept for them).

At 4 pm, I headed over for a “Middle East Update” on the crisis in that region. The amphitheater would be the ideal spot for Chautauqua’s afternoon lectures on religion and public affairs, but the stage is usually being used by musicians and their roadies sound-checking equipment. Instead, audience members troop over to the Hall of Philosophy, an open-air Greek-style building with seating for about 650 people. The popularity of these series is straining the institution’s resources, however: Even with chairs set up on the grass out from under the roof, listeners still sometimes are seated back even farther. In rainy weather, the overflow crowd runs the risk of being soaked.

When lecturers/panelists are finished with the formal part of their addresses or Q-and-As, audience members line up on both sides of them with questions. Depending on your point of view, the resulting interrogations can seem either like an intellectual version of a classic New England town meeting or a high-tech firing squad. Some audience members ask neutral questions that elicit information; others ask questions that, though polite, leave no doubt that they take issue with a speaker; and still others can be downright rude.

One example of the latter type of question occurred last year, in an address by Donald L. Ewert, a molecular biologist and research administrator at the Wistar Institute, speaking on “Stem-Cell Research: Facts, Fallacies and Ethical Challenges.” I give the institution credit for inviting a speaker that challenged the biases of many audience members; at the same time, I wouldn’t have blamed Dr. Ewert for walking out of the talk feeling as if he had been mugged.

This was assuredly a no-win situation for him. At one point, the audience was polled as to its feelings on doctor-assisted suicide. A majority of the audience raised its hands. This same group happened to trend overwhelmingly toward the “mature” side of the age spectrum.

Anyone taking issue with a frontier of medicine that promised the equivalent of miracle cures to this demographic was going to attract considerable skepticism. In fact, one audience member asked Dr. Ewert how he could regard himself as a scientist when he admitted to approaching his work with moral and religious considerations in mind. A number of listeners nodded their heads vigorously in agreement. Somehow, I doubt if they had examined the bases for their disagreement. Would they have so sharply questioned scientists who refused to work on nuclear weapons research because of profound moral disagreement with it? I don’t think so.

The talk this time—on the Middle East and the challenges it will pose the next American President—featured questioner Geoffrey Kemp, director of regional strategic programs at the Nixon Center, and Anthony Cordesman of the Center for Strategic and International Studies, and a former director of intelligence for the U.S. Secretary of Defense. Both Kemp and Cordesman regard the American invasion of Iraq as misbegotten. On that, the audience is in agreement with them. I’m sure they’re also glad to hear Cordesman’s explanation of the extraordinary logistical difficulties that would await any Israeli or American attempt to take out Iran’s alleged nuclear capabilities. (According to Cordesman, planes would not only have to strike through the airspace over the country but then have to return to ensure that they hadn’t missed anything.)

Some in the audience, however, were not that pleased with Cordesman’s benign view of Israel’s possession of the atomic bomb when the U.S. is pressing to ensure that it would not fall into the hands of a Moslem fundamentalist state. His response—something to the effect that on the school playground, you give your support to your allies—provoked considerable astonished harrumphing in the audience. The metaphor was somewhat flippant—I might have made the point that a democratic ally is more reliable than an autocratic one—but as someone who had his own encounters in schoolyards, I take his point.

Entertainment: Four Celtic Women

How to finish up this long day? Which bit of entertainment to pick? This first full night of the week, much like my last full night of vacation last year, came down to an opera versus popular entertainment. In 2007, I had to decide between Carmen and Clay Aiken. I’d never seen Bizet’s opera (I’m not counting the Dorothy Dandridge-Harry Belafonte film Carmen Jones). But the possibility of a long night, plus the extra fee I’d have to pay to see it in Norton Hall, not to mention the curiosity factor (I’m probably the only person left in America who hasn’t sat through American Idol) led me toward Clay Aiken. In retrospect, I don’t see how I could do worse. I cut out before intermission. Hannah Arendt might have written of the banality of evil, but Aiken had epitomized the evil of banality.

This year, it’s La Traviata versus Four Celtic Women. The price issue continued to be a factor. There’s also the fact that I was much more familiar with the Irish music of the latter than with the opera form.

Though I’d bought a CD of Four Celtic Women for my parents, I’d never seen them outside of one of those increasingly frequent PBS fundraisers. The group struck me as slightly diffident on the small screen, so I was preparing myself for a letdown. I should have had more faith, because the group had become better since that TV performance. Not in the musicianship, mind you, which was fine to begin with, but with their stage presence, which was far more varied and relaxed than it was on TV

Quote of the Day (St. Anthony of Padua)

“A faithful Christian, illumined by the rays of grace like a crystal, ought to illumine others through word and deed, with the light of good example.” —St. Anthony of Padua

Quote of the Day (Lobley)

“No one gets embarrassed anymore. Do I need to list the things that used to be embarrassing? Underwear sticking out of pants, rear ends sticking out pants, your kid having bad manners in public, taking off your clothes for the camera, girls beating up girls on the Internet, talking about your colonoscopy on your cellphone when everyone can hear you, lying in print, getting caught cheating people out of their hard-earned money.”—The Record (Bergen County, N.J.) columnist Pam Lobley, “Lying Is Wrong, But You Can’t Beat the Perks,” August 4, 2008, on author-letter forger Lee Israel